


No Perfection So Absolute

by childrenofthesun



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Bad poly, Coercive Sex, Consent under Duress, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Emotional Trauma, Eventual Happy Ending, Forced Genital Switching, Fuck Or Die, Gabriel is a himbo but that just makes everything worse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Oblivious Gabriel (Good Omens), Unwilling Arousal, instances of self-victim-blaming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 42,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26357701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childrenofthesun/pseuds/childrenofthesun
Summary: The Apocalypse has come and gone, and Crowley and Aziraphale are now free to spend as much time as they like together. Ever so slowly, they're nudging their way towards a romantic relationship. They have the time now to make sure they get it right, after all.Except that Gabriel has his own ideas about Crowley and Aziraphale's love for one another, and what it represents.Clearly, their love has been blessed by God.Whywouldn'tGabriel want that for himself?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens), Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 301
Kudos: 267





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For my lovely friend Amil, who had the idea of this post-canon AU… last year, holy crap, what even is time anymore? Many thanks are also due to the other members of the Ineffable Kink server at the time who helped workshop some of the details for this fic.
> 
> This is very likely going to end up being the longest GO fic I've written to date. There will also be at least one art piece to go along with it, as well; time will tell if the muse strikes for more. 
> 
> No noncon yet in this chapter; that won't start until chapter 4, and will commence in earnest from chapter 6 onwards. I'll just be building that delicious tension until then ;) 
> 
> As you may have gathered from the tags, this is not going to be a happy fic. It will still have a happy ending, though, not to worry (it'll just take us a while to get there). With this one, I wanted to explore Gabriel in the villain role without his intentions being outright malicious or cruel – and I think I'll be able to make a good argument that him having good intentions that are executed fantastically badly is actually worse. Basically, this is the one where I ruin Himbo Gabe. I hope you'll enjoy the process as much as I will!

"I'm thinking of growing it out again," Crowley said softly, eyes half-lidded at the gentle scratch of Aziraphale's fingernails against his scalp.

Aziraphale smiled down at him, admiring the gold and copper strands glinting between his fingers, caught by the fading evening sunlight filtering in through the bookshop windows. "I've always thought you look so lovely with long hair," he replied, face suffusing with delight when Crowley blushed and squirmed a little at the compliment.

It hadn't been too long since Crowley would have responded to a statement like that with a grumble or a snarl. It was always a defence mechanism, filled with a fear that, should he ever say anything that couldn't be written off as a casual conversation at least tangential to their Arrangement, it would bring the wrath of Heaven and Hell down on their heads. It was a habit that had been ground into him over millennia, and would take a long time to truly cast off. But already, just a few years after the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't, Crowley's protests were more and more often of a good-natured sort.

So, instead of snapping off some acerbic reply designed to protect them both, the corner of Crowley's mouth curved up in a poorly suppressed smile as he asked, "Yeah? You prefer it long?"

"I like it any length," Aziraphale assured him as he continued to stroke it. "I'm sure I'd like it even if you shaved it all off." He paused a moment, considering. "Only, please don't actually shave it all off. I'm sure I'd miss it terribly."

Crowley scoffed out a small huff of laughter. "No worries on that, angel, haven't got the head-shape for it."

Aziraphale hummed and moved to scratch at a spot just behind Crowley's ear, the demon's eyes fluttering shut with a small, pleased sound. "I have no doubt you could make it work."

"'Course I could," Crowley murmured. "This is me we're talking about, here." He let out a contented sigh. "This is nice."

Another smile tugged at Aziraphale's lips. "I thought you didn't like that word."

A sleepy, serpentine eye rolled open, pupil wide and relaxed as it regarded him. "Satan's not the boss of me anymore," he sniffed. "I'm allowed to like it."

"I like it too," Aziraphale said, fingertips swirling up to where Crowley's hair parted and back down again. Crowley let out a pleased sound, eyes closing again as he settled himself more snugly against Aziraphale's thigh.

Aziraphale itched, just a little, to let his fingers drift down from Crowley's hair to stroke his face instead; to run his thumb along the razor's edge of Crowley's cheekbone, to glide along the curve of his jaw. He wondered, if he were to trace the pad of his finger over the shape of Crowley's lips, would the demon press them against it? Would he topple over the edge of platonic into something else entirely, or hesitate, unready, leaving Aziraphale to fall on his own?

He was well aware of the irony in needing to give Crowley time to adjust, but turnabout was more than fair play, in his opinion. He was perfectly content to wait. Particularly when doing so had already gifted him Crowley like this, gentle and relaxed under his touch, soaking in Aziraphale's warmth like it was a ray of summer sunshine. Such open affection was already more than he could have ever hoped for.

Before long, Crowley's breathing slowed, growing deeper, with a soft whuffle at the end of every breath. Aziraphale felt his heart swell to bursting with fondness as the sharp angles of the demon's face softened in sleep. It was already clear that Crowley was settling in for the evening, body going fully lax the way a body does when its owner intends to rest it for a good long while.

Of course, Aziraphale knew in all likelihood that, come morning, Crowley would spit and hiss as he decried his gentle actions as nothing more than the product of a long day. Aziraphale would have been lying if he'd said the thought didn't cause him a pang of sadness. But Crowley had spent so long having to look over his shoulder, always fearful that any sign of kindness from him would be grounds for punishment. At least for Aziraphale, kindness itself had been expected of him, if not directed towards the enemy. Of the two of them, Aziraphale was admittedly more resistant to change, but in this instance, he had a far smaller philosophical gap to close than Crowley did. After all, if an angel's charge was to love all of God's creations, didn't it stand to reason that he would love Crowley?

Still, he told himself as he miracled a book off one of the shelves and lit the tableside lamp with a flick of the wrist, there was nothing to be gained by rushing headlong into something if they weren't both ready for it. These things took time, after all.

And, well…

They had all the time in the world, now.

Crowley was well worth the wait.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––

Crowley woke by degrees, body wrapped in warm sunshine and head pillowed on the softest of clouds. He blinked a few times, and reality revealed itself to be something more mundane – he was laid out on a couch, a thick cushion under his head and a distressingly tartan blanket draped over him. He slowly pushed away from the former and shrugged off the latter, spine arching in a languid stretch as he nudged his mental faculties into action.

There was no crick in his back – his corporation wouldn't dare subject him to the discomfort – just a mild befuddlement at his circumstances. It took him several seconds of squinting at the motes of dust dancing in the slanted beams of morning sunlight before it clicked that it _was_ morning, that he must have passed out the night before, when…

When he'd been letting Aziraphale pat his hair like he was a bloody domesticated cat, sweet Satan, what was wrong with him? He'd been stone cold sober, too, he couldn't even blame his actions on alcohol.

He'd be lying to himself if he said that he didn't enjoy it, though. That he couldn't still feel the phantom of Aziraphale's fingers stroking that one spot behind his ear.

That he craved so much more touch and physical affection than Aziraphale had already granted him, no matter how much the thought of asking for it made him want to shrivel with mortification.

This growing intimacy between them, creeping along by inches, was slowly driving him mad. It still wasn't enough to tell, definitively, whether Aziraphale wanted anything but friendship from him. It itched, like a freshly scabbed wound, and Crowley couldn't help but pick at the festering edges, never quite having the fortitude to just tear it off and leave the bleeding truth of him on display. He would never want to risk the friendship he already had; he just didn't know whether Aziraphale's love for him had grown into a similar shape to the love he had for Aziraphale. It would be better not knowing than finding out that Aziraphale's desires didn't align with his own.

He didn't want to risk it, not when Aziraphale would undoubtedly feel guilty about it if he didn't requite Crowley's romantic interests. If there was even a chance that Aziraphale would mistakenly think that the friendship he offered Crowley was a mere consolation prize–

"Oh, you're awake!"

Crowley looked over to see the angel in question, emerging from the small kitchen he'd managed to squeeze into the shop's geometry since the failed Apocalypse. Aziraphale had gone on something of a baking tear a while back, and had conjured the kitchen for the purpose. Now, even after the spirit of culinary frenzy had subsided somewhat from creation back to appreciation, he hadn't quite been able to bear getting rid of it. At any rate, it gave him the excuse to more easily make himself a mug of real hot cocoa, instead of being lazy and miracling one up.

Aziraphale cradled such a mug close to his chest now, steam curling gently from its surface, a slightly bashful look on his face. "I hope I didn't disturb you," he said. "I wouldn't have gotten up at all, truly, it was only that I'd been reading all night and I'd gotten rather parched, and–"

"Angel. 'S fine," Crowley assured, peeling himself from the couch. "I've abused your hospitality long enough, you hardly need to excuse yourself. I would've left sooner if I'd realised how tired I was, I didn't mean to impose…"

"It's no trouble, really," Aziraphale said, with a smile that did unfair things to Crowley's heart. "You know you're welcome here whenever you'd like."

He said it like Crowley keeping him pinned to the sofa for who knew how many hours had been a privilege rather than a hardship. Like having a demon snoring and drooling on his leg whilst he tried to read had been a delight worth repeating.

Then, of course, his brain took an abrupt left turn and began fantasising about far less innocent reasons for having Aziraphale pinned to the sofa beneath him.

_Nope_ , he told himself sternly. _You're not allowed to imagine that when you're trying to hold a conversation with him in real life. Not when you don't know for sure if that's something he'd ever want from you._

He squared his shoulders, wanting to give his excuses so that he could go and lose his dignity in the privacy of his flat. Still, he couldn't leave without apologising for his behaviour first, that would just be rude.

"Listen, angel, I'm sorry about how I was acting yesterday."

Aziraphale's smile dimmed. "Whatever do you mean?"

Crowley made an expansive gesture with his hands before quickly trying to stuff his fingers into his pockets, only managing to fit a forefinger in each. "Y'know," he said lamely. "I was being–" _Pathetic? Clingy? Some other sad adjective that will make you tell me that I'm still going too fast for you?_ "–Look, 's not important, I just– it won't happen again."

"Oh," Aziraphale said, smile fading further. Then, he seemed to make up his mind on something, shoulders set stubbornly. "That's a shame," he said, voice carefully even like he was trying to keep it from wavering. "Because I rather enjoyed it."

"Ngh," Crowley replied, while his heart either started racing so fast that each beat blended into the next, or it just stopped beating entirely – it was difficult to tell which. It wasn't like either option would kill him; he didn't need a heart, or any other internal organs at all, really. He just enjoyed the sensation of having a pulse, and having lungs made it easier to remember that humans tended to get weirded out if they noticed he wasn't breathing. "Why," he said stupidly, because his other immediate instinct was to offer to let Aziraphale to play with his hair whenever he liked, which was so mortifyingly sappy of him that he almost combusted from embarrassment just thinking about it.

Aziraphale's expression turned affectionate. "Because, Crowley, I like showing affection for the people I care about. It isn't something I'm able to exercise often."

Crowley let out another strangled non-word, then managed, "Well, s'pose if. If it's something you enjoy, I can indulge you." Bless it all. There went that plan immediately. "Not because _I_ like it," he added hastily, which somehow made it worse.

Aziraphale gave him another fond look. "Of course not, my dear."

"Right. Glad we've got that straight," he said, miracling his sunglasses from wherever he'd discarded them the night before and putting them on. "I'll be out of your hair, then. Let you get back to your book in peace."

Disappointment settled into the creases of Aziraphale's face. "So soon?"

Crowley was immediately glad he'd already covered his eyes, swallowing. "Yeah. 'M feeling a bit tired, still, think I'll go have another kip at home, save you having to explain to customers why you've got a degenerate napping on your sofa."

"I rather think that would work in my favour," Aziraphale murmured.

A smile tugged at the corner of Crowley's mouth. "You might be right there. Still, if I'm going to be lounging about your shop all day, I should at least have the courtesy to be conscious for it. 'Sides, probably better that I sleep in a bed than on a couch."

Aziraphale sagged a little, looking down into the still-steaming depths of his cocoa. "Of course, it would be rude of me to keep you from your bed," he said, then looked up again, gaze soft. "Sleep well, Crowley."

Crowley barely stopped himself from saying _you too_ , like an idiot, and instead offered a mangled and inelegant, "You– yeah, thanks," before turning towards the door.

He indulged himself in a look over his shoulder as he waved goodbye, and held the soft smile on Aziraphale's lips close to his chest as the shop bell chimed over his head.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––

Unbeknownst to Crowley, and purely down to unfortunate timing, a letter printed on snow white cardstock appeared on the desk in Aziraphale's study a mere few hours after the demon had left. The letter seemed to almost glow from within, a faint scent of ozone lingering in the opalescent wax seal holding it closed.

Aziraphale noticed its appearance immediately. There was no mistaking its origin.

He set down the book he'd been in the middle of reading, walking to the desk on unsteady legs, sinking down into his desk chair like an anchor.

With trembling fingers, he picked up the letter and broke the seal, flattening the paper against his desk. The message within was short, to the point, and did not indicate that anything but prompt compliance would be considered acceptable. Aziraphale carefully folded the letter back up, stared down at it, and said, for what might have only been the second time in his long life:

"Oh, _fuck_."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, my lovelies! Here's chapter 2, I hope you enjoy. I'm planning, at the moment, to post every Tuesday until I run out of buffer. I'm not 100% on whether I'll be able to stay ahead of it, but I will give you all a heads up if I do run out.

"You're an idiot," Crowley muttered at his reflection in the Bentley's rear-view mirror. "You saw the look on his face, it wasn't pity. It wasn't. He wanted you to stay, you utter pillock."

His hands gripped the steering wheel harder, but he didn't turn around.

He couldn't just go _back_ mere minutes after leaving, not after making such a fool of himself. Even knowing, with unwavering certainty, that if he returned to the bookshop right now, Aziraphale's whole face would light up with a smile, and he would welcome Crowley back inside with open arms. Aziraphale would happily wile away the hours together with him, gracing him with all the casual touch he could possibly ask for.

The prospect rather terrified him.

He'd spent so long with Aziraphale being safely unattainable that he was somewhat at a loss, now that the angel was potentially within his reach. He still didn't quite dare let himself hope that Aziraphale felt the same way he did.

Crowley parked in his usual spot outside his flat in Mayfair, taking a few seconds to press his head against the top of the steering wheel to collect himself. He took a few steadying breaths before getting out, making his way up to his flat. It was silent and austere, as always. The only warmth to be found in it was from the ducted heating system, which always turned itself on an hour before Crowley arrived, regardless of whether he'd set a timer for it or not.

He stalked through the flat, the only sound the inquisitive rustling of his houseplants.

"Shut it," Crowley muttered half-heartedly, making a beeline for his bedroom. He'd sleep for a few days, he decided. A week, at the most. That was more than enough time for a proper, sulky nap.

Mind made up, Crowley miracled himself into a pair of black silk pyjamas, burrowed himself under the covers, and within seconds, was out like a light.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––

_"You've reached Anthony J. Crowley. You know what to do, do it with style."_

Aziraphale bit his lip nervously. "Ah, yes, Crowley, it's me. I do hope you're there. I've had… something's come up rather suddenly, and, well, I was hoping, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, if you wouldn't mind popping back around the shop? It's rather something I think we should discuss in person. Do please hurry."

He waited for a response for several seconds before accepting that he was genuinely speaking to Crowley's ansaphone, and no one else.

"Blast!" Aziraphale said, face creased with uncertainty as he set the receiver back down in its cradle. "Blast and damn."

He began to pace back and forth. Aziraphale was rather good at pacing; it came from his capacity to experience anxiety at a level that would make any human brain simply shut down from the stress of it all.

He was going to have to answer Heaven's summons, alone.

What else could he do? Break into Crowley's flat and shake him until he woke up? Absurd. There was every chance that startling him like that might cause the demon to conjure hellfire on pure instinct to defend himself, which would end rather unpleasantly for Aziraphale.

Not that he was entirely sure that that was how such things worked, mind, but if it was, that certainly wouldn't be how he'd like to find out. Crowley would never forgive himself, for starters.

Aziraphale sighed and continued pacing, trying to decide how to best approach the matter.

_Gabriel, I received your invitation. I have done you the courtesy of attending, but I would like to remind you that I am no longer in Heaven's employ, as it were._

No, that wouldn't do. Not nearly forceful enough.

_Gabriel, I know that Heaven was informed in no uncertain terms that Crowley and I were both to be left alone. This is a gross invasion of our privacy, and I will not stand for it._

No, now that was _too_ forceful. Aziraphale didn't want to be rude, he just wanted to be able to enjoy Earth and gently woo Crowley in peace.

Aziraphale got in a few more minutes of unproductive handwringing and pacing, before realising that his dithering wasn't getting him anywhere. Not to mention, showing up late certainly wasn't going to put Gabriel in a charitable mood.

He sighed. He'd just have to take a page out of Crowley's book, and be a little more spontaneous.

He picked up Gabriel's missive, carefully folded it, and put it in the pocket of his waistcoat. In the event that anyone tried to stop him, then he'd at least have proof that he was actually meant to be there. Although, from what Crowley had told him, Heaven had been rather frightened of how 'he' had sprayed hellfire at them, he supposed that it was fairly likely that they'd all be quite terrified of him still.

Whilst the general idea of being perceived of as terrifying didn't sit particularly well with him, he couldn't deny feeling just a _bit_ of vindictive satisfaction knowing that the Archangels had had a good fright when Crowley had been impersonating him.

Aziraphale took a cab to the earthly entrance to Heaven and Hell, striding to the escalator with purpose, like there wasn't a bundle of nervous energy twisting up his insides.

This would all be fine, he told himself, folding his hands together as he stepped onto the escalator. Heaven was still under the impression that he was immune to hellfire, and that he might well have other, yet-to-be-tested, capabilities that he'd developed without their knowledge. He was a wildcard, and the fact that Gabriel wanted to meet him in Heaven, rather than on Earth, meant that Heaven still very much feared him. So long as he made this quick, and sternly reminded Gabriel of the non-interference agreement, there was no reason to think this was all about to go sideways.

He was absorbed in his thoughts enough that he very nearly stumbled as he reached the top, and felt the breath in his lungs leave him all at once. It hit him that he was physically present in Heaven, a place he'd never thought he'd be able to set foot again. A small part – and only a small part – felt a measure of peace, of oneness, of coming home. The rest of him felt incredibly out of place, and wanted nothing more than to promptly carry him right back down to Earth, where he belonged.

_The sooner this is over with, the sooner you can leave_ , he told himself. Better to address whatever Gabriel's issue was, nip it in the bud, rather than allow it to grow into a continuing annoyance that intruded upon his life.

Heaven's halls were about as empty as they usually were, members of the Host stationed deeper within Heaven attending to administrative tasks, or otherwise out on assignment. Aziraphale couldn't help but feel relieved – he could only imagine the widespread panic that might start once word got around that he was back in Heaven.

Aziraphale made his way to the reception area, mercifully without running into anyone. The lone angel at the front desk – only a young thing, barely a few centuries old, if that – blanched visibly at the sight of Aziraphale, skin turning ashy beneath the lustrous tan of their skin. Aziraphale tried to stem his own queasiness at instilling such raw fear in someone, offering what he hoped came across as a friendly smile. "Hello," he greeted congenially. "I believe you'll find I have a meeting scheduled with Gabriel?"

"I– I–" the angel at the desk stammered, only seeming to grow more terrified. They kept staring at Aziraphale, fingers only seeming to move across the glowing screen by muscle memory alone. Their gaze darted to the screen, unwilling to take their eyes off the looming threat that Aziraphale apparently presented. Their expression turned baffled as they looked over Gabriel's shared calendar. "I... can see the meeting scheduled in here, he'll be in his office."

"Marvellous," Aziraphale said. "I presume his office hasn't changed locations since I, ah, left."

The other angel, still unhealthily pale, merely nodded.

"Thank you… oh, my goodness, I'm so terribly sorry, I didn't even ask your name."

"I'm called Bethuel," squeaked the poor angel, looking they were about to either throw up or cry (possibly both).

"Thank you, Bethuel," Aziraphale said, and decided it best he left before he tormented Bethuel any further. Besides, he had an appointment to keep.

The path to Gabriel's office was one he'd walked often. Aziraphale kept his back straight, not allowing his shoulders to fold in on themselves. He needed to project confidence if he wanted Gabriel to listen to him. He'd faced down actual Lords of Hell, he could handle a quick chat with his ex-boss.

He reached Gabriel's door and knocked.

"Come in," Gabriel's voice called out.

Aziraphale double checked that his posture was still upright before entering.

It looked just as Aziraphale remembered it, except for a new door to the right of Gabriel's desk. He frowned at it, wondering where it led to. And he wondered where Gabriel was, for that matter; he would have expected the Archangel to be seated at his desk–

Cold metal closed around one of Aziraphale's wrists. He stared down in utter stupefaction at the manacle that had been locked around his wrist, and instinctively pulled back. Gabriel was already grabbing his other arm, though, wrestling it into the other manacle before Aziraphale could properly come to terms with what was happening.

"Gabriel, what's the meaning of this?" he cried out. To his horror, when he tried to miracle himself out of the chains, they didn't budge, his access to his angelic powers apparently cut off.

He was an idiot. Of course it was a trap. Hadn't he learnt by now that Heaven could be underhanded when it suited their purposes?

"Neat, aren't they? Blocks the powers of all ethereal and occult beings, which includes whatever you are now," Gabriel explained. "Uriel cooked them up, you know she loves her sigil work."

"Why are you doing this? You've seen already, hellfire doesn't work," Aziraphale protested, trying not to stutter over the lie in his panic.

"Oh, no, don't worry, this isn't a punishment," Gabriel reassured. Aziraphale remained firmly unassured. "Here, I'll show you."  


He made a motion for Aziraphale to approach the door he'd noticed earlier, and there wasn't much for Aziraphale to do but obey. Gabriel opened the door and ushered him through. Aziraphale went reluctantly, and blinked a little in confusion when he found himself on the pavement outside of a large 70s-style suburban house, complete with a white picket fence surrounding a tidy front lawn. Aziraphale tried to look at what were presumably other houses on either side, but his eyes slid away before he could pin down any details.

He jumped a little at the press of Gabriel's hand against his lower back, but with nowhere else to go, Aziraphale allowed himself to be steered towards the front door. Gabriel opened that for him, too, beaming expectantly at him as he urged him inside.

The click of the door lock sliding into place behind him made Aziraphale flinch as he took in his new surroundings. In contrast to the exterior, the interior of the house seemed straight out of a contemporary interior design magazine, all muted colours and geometric designs.

Aziraphale found himself turning to Gabriel for an explanation, because this still didn't make any sense. Why create a fake home attached to his office? Why bring Aziraphale there?

"I'm really sorry about the chains," Gabriel told him. "Necessary precaution, you know, I didn't think you'd understand right away."

"I _don't_ understand," Aziraphale said desperately, barely keeping himself from flinching when Gabriel reached out to undo the manacles. As soon as he was free, Aziraphale clicked his fingers as subtly as he could, trying to miracle himself back home. He wasn't surprised when it didn't work, but it still sent a bolt of panic through him. "What do you _want_?"

"I want you to love me," Gabriel said, like it was the most reasonable request in the world. He miracled away the manacles and folded his hands, an expectant look on his face.

" _What_?" Aziraphale's voice came out high and strangled. He must have misheard. There was no possibility that the Archangel Gabriel could be suggesting–

"I said I want you to love me." Gabriel smiled benignly. "Obviously, you loving the Serpent of Eden was sanctioned by God, that's why She made you immune to hellfire. Why wouldn't I want that for myself?"

Aziraphale felt his eyes begin to well up with tears. He hadn't even plucked up the courage yet to tell Crowley how he really felt. He'd been telling himself that he'd been waiting for a sign that Crowley was ready to hear him say it, but truthfully, it was just as much because he hadn't known how. It wasn't like he could just come out and _say_ it, not after six thousand years of denying that he even enjoyed the demon's company. Crowley deserved more from him than that. He'd been slowly constructing the perfect apology in the years since the failed Armageddon, so sure that he had all the time in the world now to do it right, to make sure he could prove himself worthy of Crowley's love.

He'd been a fool. Of course Heaven would want to capitalise on his apparent ability to make himself immune to hellfire. Why wouldn't they want such a powerful defence for the armies of Heaven? Aziraphale was suddenly sure that the only reason Hell hadn't tried the same thing with Crowley was because they didn't much care for love. Most of them had lost the capacity for it.

Crowley was a rare, beautiful outlier, and now Aziraphale might never have the chance to tell him just how wholeheartedly that love was reciprocated.

"Oh, before I forget, since you've returned to Heaven now, you really should update your outfit. Here, let me." Gabriel clicked his fingers, and Aziraphale's clothes vanished, instantly replaced with a suit of Gabriel's design.

The suit was perfectly tailored to his body – Gabriel would hardly conjure up something ill-fitting – but the snugness just made his skin crawl, the artificial nature of it rubbing against his skin in all the wrong ways. His hair felt weighted down, flattened out into a carbon copy of Gabriel's swept-back style. Aziraphale didn't need a mirror to know that he looked like a shorter, stockier version of the Archangel.

Gabriel beamed at him. "What do you think?"

Aziraphale looked down at the lilac tie fastened around his neck, the shade a perfect match to Gabriel's eyes. It felt like a noose in a way his bowties never had, and the feeling didn't dissipate when he loosened it. He tried ineffectually to swallow past the sensation, and asked, "Where have you put my clothes?"

Gabriel waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about those, you don't need them anymore."

Aziraphale looked down and made a pretence of fiddling with his tie some more, struggling to blink back tears. Just like that, decades and centuries of painstaking care, creases and lines settling in until the clothes were just as much a part of his physical presence as his corporation, gone. Destroyed.

"So? Do you like it?" Gabriel pressed, his face expectant, like he couldn't even conceive of the possibility that Aziraphale would say no.

"It's... certainly an update," Aziraphale said as diplomatically as possible. He ran a distressed hand through his hair, and it instantly reverted to its usual fluffy style. Not because his powers had returned in any shape or form, but because Gabriel's were outmatched by the riotous strength of Aziraphale's curls.

"Great, I knew you'd like it." Gabriel rubbed his hands together, grinning. "So. What do you want to do?"

"I'd like to be returned to Earth, if you don't mind," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "I don't want to be here."

"Don't be ridiculous," Gabriel said, waving a dismissive hand. "You don't mean that, you just need to get settled in. I could give you a tour of the place, if you want? I made it especially for you, you know."

"I want to go home," Aziraphale insisted plaintively.

Gabriel let out a fond sigh, an indulgent expression on his face. "Aziraphale. You _are_ home." He spread his arms out. "This is Heaven. I know I've made it look a lot like one of those human dwellings you like so much on Earth, but we're still very much within Her halls. You know how I feel about most human things, but I'm willing to make a few compromises."

Tears pricked at Aziraphale's eyes. His voice thickened, but he refused to let it wobble. "I want to go home _to Crowley_."

Gabriel's expression fell. "Oh. I'm being an idiot, aren't I? Of course you don't want to stay here with me on your own."

Aziraphale allowed himself to relax just a little, giving Gabriel a cautious nod. He didn't seem angry, which was a good sign, surely, he was merely realising that keeping Aziraphale captive when he didn't want to be here wouldn't–

"I better go bring him up here, too, huh?"

_No._

_Nonono, that wasn't what I meant–_

"You won't find him," Aziraphale said quickly. "He's– he's a wily one, he knows how to hide, you won't–"

"Oh, don't worry, finding him won't be an issue." Gabriel smiled again. "I'll leave a note at your bookshop, let him know where you are, I'm sure he'll come right up to see you. That's what love is, right?"

Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth, but nothing came out. A tear rolled down each cheek instead. Gabriel tutted, tenderly wiping them away.

"Hey, now, none of that. You'll like it here. You both will," Gabriel promised, with an earnest sincerity that was downright sinister. "I'll make sure of it. You'll see."

Then, with a click of his fingers and a crackle of lightning, he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

_"Thank you for calling A. Z. Fell & Co, Antiquarian and Unusual Books. I am currently far too busy to take your call – if you are calling to discuss the sale of a book, please leave your contact details with the understanding that I do not take kindly to timewasters. If you are calling to discuss the purchase of a book, please go away."_

"Aziraphale, answer your bloody phone, so help me–" Crowley shouted at the microphone clipped to the passenger-side sun visor of the Bentley, tearing through the streets of London at an even greater speed than he normally did.

Stupid, stupid. Why hadn't he seen this coming? Had he really been naïve enough to think that Heaven and Hell would leave them alone for long?

It served him right for sulking off and taking a four-day nap after Aziraphale had dared to do something as dastardly as treat him with affection.

There was no doubt in his mind that Aziraphale's message, with its vague reference to 'something' having come up, had everything to do with the angel's former employers. Crowley swore helplessly; Aziraphale had spent so long under Heaven's thumb, it was more than possible his old instincts to obey their instructions – and his fear of what might happen if he didn't – would have kicked in. Particularly if he'd thought doing so would protect Crowley.

He pulled up outside the bookshop in record time, which was really saying something. He charged for the door, heedless of the odd looks he was getting from passers-by. Eddies of dust swirled around his feet as he barged inside.

"Angel!" he shouted, only to be greeted with silence, confirming what he already knew – Aziraphale wasn't there.

The silence of the stacks closed in on him, leaving him feeling more and more like the shelves were about to erupt in flames around him again. Fear made jelly of his legs, steps wobbly as he moved further into the shop, looking for some kind of clue, some kind of indication of what Heaven wanted with Aziraphale.

Crowley didn't dare let himself dwell on the most obvious answer.

His eyes fell on a neatly fell on a neatly folded note lying next to the cash register. The paper was so blindingly white that Crowley had to squint, even with his sunglasses. He regarded it with suspicion for several seconds before calling out again, futilely, "Angel?"

As he'd expected, there was still no answer.

Crowley let out a shaky breath and made his way over to the counter, reaching out with hesitant fingers in case the paper carried enough residual holiness to burn him. It was warm to the touch, but pleasantly so, like summer sunshine. The wax seal had a pearlescent sheen to it, tending towards lavender, and he felt a distinct sense of foreboding as he opened it, mouth going dry as he stared down at the blocky printed letters.

He knew exactly which of those righteous bastards had sent the note.

––––––––––––––––––––

The Bentley screeched to a halt out the front of the Earthly entrance to Heaven and Hell, in what had only just started being a kerbside parking space a few seconds prior. Crowley flung himself inelegantly out of the door, barely keeping himself from breaking out into a full-on sprint, settling instead for a hybrid between an aggressive power-walk and a nervous jog.

Once inside, he gave up the pretence, running for the escalator to Heaven. The floor sucked greedily at his feet, seeking to pull him down into Hell as it usually did, and he put in a desperate burst of speed.

He couldn't go to Hell, especially not now. Aziraphale needed him.

He flung his hand out, clamping around the handrail of Heaven's escalator. He dragged himself onto the moving steps, and the floor reluctantly let him go. Trembling, he stood, still gripping tight to the handrail as he tried to calm the frantic knocking of his heart.

Every self-preservation instinct he had screamed for him to run back down the escalator as it slowly drew him closer to Heaven.

This was objectively stupid of him. There was a next to zero chance that he'd be able to bluff his way back out of Heaven after travelling Up There willingly without them just handing him off to Hell, much less of getting back out with Aziraphale.

But there was absolutely zero chance that Crowley would leave Aziraphale trapped and at Gabriel's mercy. Anything would be better than the knowledge that he'd left his best friend out to dry without making even the slightest attempt to do something about it.

He drummed his fingers nervously against the handrail. It was different, going back up to Heaven without the protective shell of Aziraphale's corporation surrounding him. He felt naked and exposed in a way that his sunglasses couldn't shield him from. He didn't know if he was clever enough for this, to deceive Heaven twice over, make them think he was immune to anything they might throw at him–

Crowley stumbled as he reached the top of the escalator.

He was officially in Heaven. No turning back now.

Taking a slow breath, Crowley tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, affecting an unbothered loping pace as he wandered further into enemy territory.

Show no fear. Act like there's no one who could possibly stop you from being here even if they wanted to. You've bluffed your way out of Heaven before, you can do it again.

He decided that if he just pretended hard enough, he might start believing himself.

That belief, already tenuous to begin with, rapidly began to fray as he found himself quickly lost in a labyrinth of identical-looking corridors. At least in Hell, there were subtle differences that could be used to differentiate the different pathways – the specific demotivational posters on the walls, the pattern of the flickering overhead lights, the particular shapes in which the mould crept across the ceiling. Here, everything was scrupulously clean and utterly indistinguishable.

Grimly, he realised that there really would be no leaving Heaven without Aziraphale, even if he wanted to. There was no way for him to know which direction he'd come from.

Crowley felt irritation spiking through his mounting panic, rapidly blooming into anger. Why couldn't there just be an information kiosk with a little glowing 'you are here!' symbol and directions on where he needed to go? Was that really too much to ask?

He rounded a corner he could have sworn he'd taken before, but this time it opened out into a huge room with floor-to-ceiling windows, and a sleek, circular reception desk, staffed by a single angel.

The angel saw him immediately – would be rather hard not to, Crowley imagined, given the contrast between his colour palette and Heaven's – and their eyes widened, immediately trying to duck out of sight underneath the desk.

"Oi! You!" Crowley shouted, pointing at the angel as they tried to hide. They let out a terrified squeak at being spotted and froze in fear. Crowley abandoned his usual swaggering saunter and instead strode over to the quivering angel, taking off his sunglasses so that there would be no mistaking the barely contained fury blazing in his serpentine eyes. "Where in this sanitised corporate nightmare of a building can I find Gabriel?"

The angel quailed in the face of his anger. "W-what are you going to do to him?" they asked tremulously, clutching the sleek, glowing clipboard in their hands like a shield.

Crowley wanted to break out in hysterical laughter. The idea that he could do anything to an Archangel was so far off the mark he might as well have been aiming for a different target. "Less than what I'll do to you if you don't answer the question," he threatened, letting a hiss wrap menacingly around the words. The angel didn't need to know that it was out of panic.

"It's– it's–" The angel lifted a shaking finger to point at a corridor on the opposite side of the room. "Two rights, then the first door on the left, you can't– you can't miss it."

Crowley gave them a tight grin, all teeth. "There, was that so hard?" he asked, then pushed away from the desk and headed off without waiting for an answer.

As soon as he was out of the angel's line of sight, he picked up the pace, nearly overshooting his destination in his nervousness. He forced himself to calm down, momentarily shifting his sunglasses up to crush the palms of his hands against his eyelids before settling everything back in place.

He barged into the office without knocking. He felt foolish for a moment, wondering whether he might be dramatically bursting into an empty room, but the Archangel Gabriel was sat at an imposing desk, reading over a massive stack of reports. He looked up at Crowley's rude entrance, a dazzling smile breaking out across his face.

"You finally made it!" he exclaimed, standing excitedly. "This is great, I was beginning to think I didn't leave the note somewhere obvious enough."  
  
Crowley balled his hands into fists to hide their shaking, knowing full well that Gabriel could reduce him to a smear of paste should he be so inclined. "Where's Aziraphale?"

Gabriel grinned in a manner that was probably meant to be disarming, but just set Crowley further on edge. "Of course, of course, that's why I had you come up here, right? Follow me."

He turned towards a door to the right of his desk, back partially turned to Crowley. Crowley had a wild moment where he entertained the thought of summoning something to whack Gabriel over the back of the head with, and finding Aziraphale on his own, but quickly dismissed the harebrained idea. It would only end badly for him, he knew that. That was why he hadn't burst in, hellfire blazing, to begin with. Better to play along until he had Aziraphale in his sights, then find a way to extract him safely.

He followed after Gabriel, and blinked, surprised to find himself standing on the pavement outside of a home that could have served as a postcard for 1970's American suburbia, white picket fence and all. Gabriel waved him eagerly down the path to the front door.

"Great, isn't it?" Gabriel enthused, already opening the door and gesturing inside.

"Sure," Crowley answered, feeling utterly bewildered and distinctly unsettled. What kind of too-perfect Stepford nonsense was going on here? Had Gabriel gone off the deep end? Was that even possible, for an angel to lose their grip on sanity?

The inside of the home was distinctly different from the outside, sleek and modern and uncomfortably reminiscent of the style of Crowley's flat in Mayfair.

Crowley pushed the thought aside, though, because there in the stylish living room was Aziraphale, looking uncomfortable in a suit the echo of the one Gabriel was currently wearing, but otherwise unharmed.

"Angel," he murmured, relieved, and couldn't help but cross the short distance between them, wrapping Aziraphale in a tight embrace.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale whispered, tears filling his eyes. "You shouldn't have come."

"Like I was just going to leave you up here," Crowley quietly hissed back. He squared his shoulders as he pulled away, lifting his chin defiantly and raising his voice. "C'mon, angel, we're leaving."

"I think you're confused," Gabriel informed him. "You're staying here."

"The bloody Heaven we're staying here," Crowley retorted, all hissing bravado as he took hold of Aziraphale's hand and marched towards the door. Aziraphale trailed behind him reluctantly, and Crowley soon realised why when the doorknob refused to shift in his grip. He went to throw a miracle at it to blast the hinges off, but when he reached for his infernal powers, he ran headlong into a wall, completely cut off from his demonic abilities.

How had he not noticed the absence of his powers earlier? It had to be something to do with the house they were in, but he hadn't felt anything change upon crossing the threshold, not even the slightest tingle to indicate he'd been rendered about as effective as the average human.

Aziraphale's utter devastation at seeing him suddenly made a lot more sense.

He whirled back to face Gabriel, hiding his sudden, icy terror behind a furious snarl. "Let us go, right now."

"No," Gabriel replied, entirely unperturbed. "I told you already, you live here now. This is God's will." He gave the demon an understanding smile. Crowley, who had seen all manner of unspeakable things perpetrated by people claiming to act under a mandate from God, was not reassured in the slightest. "Look, I know it's a lot to take in all at once, I get that you're a little confused."

"I'm not confused," Crowley said, as evenly as he could manage. "Unlock the door and let us go, Gabriel, it doesn't need to be like this."

The smile started to drop a little. "Yes, it does. You're staying here, just accept it already."

"No," Crowley spat. "You don't tell me, or Aziraphale for that matter, what to do. That was the deal once you realised hellfire and holy water don't work on us. _Now let usss out_." He glared with all the venom he could muster and went to rattle the doorknob again, only for it to begin glowing white hot, electricity crackling and arcing out to the hinges.

"I said you're staying here, why is that so difficult for you to understand?" Gabriel snapped, almost luminous in his aggravation, lightning dancing along his extremities like a barely contained storm. The light in the rest of the room seemed to dim, energy coalescing around Gabriel's form like electrons orbiting a nucleus, making the fine hairs on Crowley's body raise from both static electricity and fear.

Crowley did his best not to quail in the face of Gabriel's growing divine fury at not being obeyed without question, steadily creeping closer to a point where the Archangel's righteousness threatened to overflow.

Smiting wouldn't kill Crowley, at least not permanently. Still, he didn't think Hell would be particularly keen on providing him with a new body if he found himself discorporated. And even if he managed to bluff his way through convincing them it was in their best interests to provide him with a new corporation, that would still leave Aziraphale trapped in Heaven. Would leave Aziraphale alone with Gabriel, and whatever insanity the Archangel had convinced himself had been rubber-stamped by God.

Aziraphale's hand tightened on his, and suddenly pulled back, protectively placing himself between the demon and the Archangel. "Please," Aziraphale beseeched, "you haven't even explained anything to him yet, how is he supposed to understand if you haven't told him why you've brought him here?"

He gave Crowley's hand a brief squeeze, near painful, resolutely holding Gabriel's gaze, funnelling as much desperation as he could in the clench of his fingers. Crowley understood him as clearly as if he'd spoken aloud.

The light silhouetting Gabriel faded back into the general ambiance of the room as he calmed, his expression seemingly genuine in its contriteness. "You're right, I didn't really explain what's happening here, did I? I shouldn't have gotten mad like that, that wasn't fair to you." He gave them both a sunny smile, his burst of ill temper dispelled.

"No harm done, I'm sure," Aziraphale replied, managing a weak smile in response. "Perhaps you might elucidate for him?"

Gabriel glanced down at his watch and frowned. "I'm sorry, but he did actually catch me right in the middle of some important paperwork, deadlines, you know how it is. I'm sure you can explain everything to him while I'm gone, though, then we can get right into it once I'm done, how does that sound?" Without waiting for a reply, Gabriel beamed again, clapping his hands together. "Great! I'll be back before you know it." He winked, and, before Crowley had the chance to hope he'd somehow be able to shove past Gabriel when he opened the door, the Archangel disappeared in a bolt of lightning instead.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Meridians_Of_Madness for the assist on some of the particulars for this chapter.
> 
> Also, far warning, things start to get terrible this chapter.

Crowley stared grimly at the door, then turned back to Aziraphale, pulling him in close, lips nearly touching the angel's ear. "Is this place bugged?" he asked, words barely more than an exhale.

Aziraphale stiffened, like the possibility hadn't even occurred to him. "I don't know," he whispered.

"Best we assume that it is," Crowley replied, then, at normal volume once more as he pulled away, asked, "What the Heaven is going on here?"

Aziraphale shook his head, pressing his lips together in an effort to stop them trembling. "You shouldn't have come," he repeated, tears shimmering in his eyes.

Something cold and unpleasant slithered in Crowley's stomach. "Angel, has he hurt you?"

"No, no," Aziraphale assured, shaking his head. "His intention isn't to hurt me. Or you." Aziraphale looked away, flushing miserably. "He's come to the understanding that our love for each other is what granted us immunity to hellfire and holy water, and that... he would like that immunity for himself, as well."

Crowley's throat worked for a few seconds as he digested this information. "Right. We're immune because we… love each other, of course." He nodded vigorously several times, trying to clear the sudden lump in his throat without being too obvious about it. "Aziraphale," he said carefully. "I know you said that he doesn't _intend_ to hurt us, but has he…"

"Nothing's happened," Aziraphale insisted, then his gaze dropped involuntarily to the grey suit he was wearing. "Nothing much, that is. He–" Aziraphale's voice cracked suddenly. "He said he wanted to wait until you got here, before he did anything."

Crowley moved in close again, voice dropping to a low murmur. "I won't let him touch you."

Tears filled Aziraphale's eyes. "You won't have a choice."

"I'll– I'll think of something."

" _What_ , Crowley?" he whispered, voice thick. "We're both powerless here. We have no way to leave, we have no way to contact anyone outside of this house. How do you propose we fight against an Archangel who has only the loosest grasp on the emotional spectrum, and is convinced that forcing us to love him will give him immunity to the one thing that could destroy him?" A bitter expression crossed his face. "His name literally means 'best loved by God'. We haven't a hope of convincing him that there is a love in existence that he isn't deserving of."

"OK," Crowley said quietly, pressing their foreheads together. "OK, we're going to need some time to think. Does he leave like this often? How long is he usually gone for?"

"Oh, well, yes, he still has all his Archangel duties, even without Armageddon on the horizon. Lots of meetings, paperwork, that sort of thing. As best I can tell, he's generally gone for several hours, at the very least."

Crowley nodded slowly, looking around the room. "Right," he muttered. "There's got to be some flaw to this place, some little gap in whatever wards he's had set up to keep our powers locked away."

"I've already checked for that quite thoroughly," Aziraphale protested, but Crowley was already approaching the wall, pressing his fingers along the skirting board, the corners of the room, the seam of the door, searching for the slightest chink to sink his claws into, the slightest weakness that he could exploit to gain their freedom. Aziraphale moved to his side so that they could continue to speak in hushed whispers. "Crowley, even if you do find anything, it won't do any good! You heard him, he's still in his office, you can't possibly think we'd be able to sneak past without him noticing."

"'M just looking, for now," Crowley replied, undeterred, poking at the edge of the carpet.

Aziraphale slunk back to the couch and watched him with hopeless eyes, which Crowley studiously ignored. He expanded his search into the other rooms of the house – kitchen, dining room, bedroom, bathroom, all impeccably appointed and utterly devoid of personality – before circling back to the living room, drawn by the lure of the front door that represented the most direct exit.

He was still at it when the air began to hum with static electricity, presaging Gabriel's return. Aziraphale bolted anxiously upright on the sofa, and Crowley backed away from where he'd been futilely picking at the doorframe.

The air flashed and Gabriel appeared before them, smoothing down his suit jacket with a bright smile. "So?" he asked. "That was enough time to explain everything, wasn't it? You're all caught up now, aren't you, Crowley?"

"What, didn't overhear our conversation?" Crowley asked tightly, largely failing in his attempt to inject humour into his tone.

"How would I do that?" Gabriel frowned. "I wasn't here."

Crowley raised a mirthless eyebrow. "You're saying you haven't got any surveillance up in this place to listen in on us?"

Gabriel's frown deepened. "No? It's impossible for you to leave without my permission, why would I need to do that? And Aziraphale had more than enough time to explain everything to you. It's not like you really want to leave anymore, right?"

"…Right," Crowley replied tightly, mouth suddenly dry at the matter-of-fact way Gabriel had confirmed that they were thoroughly trapped here.

"That's great!" Gabriel said, frown vanishing. "See? Told you you'd settle in after a while. I'm glad you came around on this so quickly, it took Aziraphale a couple days, didn't it, champ?"

Aziraphale tried for a smile but it came out a grimace. Gabriel didn't seem to notice the difference, stepping forward with a grin to give Crowley a comradely clasp on the shoulder. He seemed to take pause at the stark contrast of his pale skin against the black of Crowley's jacket, a suddenly bashful expression on his face.

"I completely forgot, you can't be wearing something like _this_ in Heaven."  
  
Crowley bristled. "Now, hang on just a second–" he began, but Gabriel was already snapping his fingers.

Gone were the dark, tight jeans, the V-neck shirt, the sunglasses hiding his eyes. In their place, a pair of dove grey slacks, an even paler cashmere turtleneck clinging to his chest, his eyes left uncovered. The only thing that remained the same was his watch, because apparently pretentiousness was universal.

The possessive intent behind the wardrobe change made his skin crawl.

"There, much better," Gabriel told him, looking immensely satisfied with himself. He went and sat down in the middle of the sofa, patting the cushion beside him with a smile. "Join me, why don't you?"

Aziraphale struggled to suppress a flinch and wedged himself tighter against the arm of the couch, as far away from Gabriel as physically possible. Crowley stubbornly inserted himself between the two angels, feeling the heat of both of their thighs pressing up against his own. He could feel Aziraphale shrinking down next to him, trying to make himself as small as possible. Crowley gave his knee what he hoped came across as a comforting squeeze as Gabriel's arm looped over his narrow shoulders, the backs of his fingers brushing Aziraphale's bicep.

"So!" Gabriel began, beaming wide. He gave Crowley a friendly jostle, pulling him in a little closer. Crowley could almost feel the angelic power coursing underneath Gabriel's skin, throwing his own lack of the demonic equivalent into even sharper relief. "Tell me. What's being in love like?"

Crowley made a noise that might have been called a wheeze if he'd been able to part his lips for it. He looked helplessly over at Aziraphale, who stared, terrified, back. Silence began to stretch on between them, then snapped as Aziraphale gave a sharp nod, clasped his hands together painfully tight, and resolutely stared down at his own entwined fingers.

"It's different than the love of God," he said softly. "We love God because She is there to be loved. She is a part of us, and She is a part of everything. We love Her like we breathe, like we see or we hear. We were created as a manifestation of Her love, how could we do any less than love Her in return?" He took a shuddering breath. "Romantic love is more… visceral, I think is the best way to describe it. It's a relationship of equals, where you each give and take in turn. It's... sharing yourself with someone else, where you are each halves of a whole, which itself is greater than the sum of its parts. Then, if the one you love is taken from you..." He faltered for a moment before picking back up. "You feel as if the shared parts of you have gone with them, that you are no longer complete without them."

Aziraphale blinked several times and gave a slight shiver, seeming to come back to himself. His eyes darted to Crowley's for a brief second, an unreadable expression on his face, before dropping again.

"At least, that's been my experience."

Gabriel frowned. "I haven't felt anything like that. What do you do to make it work?" He looked to Crowley. "I've heard about kissing, I know that's a part of it. You two do that a lot, don't you? Kissing?"

Crowley swallowed, knowing how he had to answer.

Aziraphale loved him, he knew that much; he just didn't know if Aziraphale was _in_ love with him. If the casual way they had started touching after the averted Apocalypse was a precursor to something else, or if it was purely platonic. The angel had told him once or twice, in hushed whispers, whilst very drunk, about the Discreet Gentleman's Club he'd frequented when Crowley had been snoring his way through a good part of the 19th century. Even with an overabundance of alcohol rounding off his consonants, though, the gentle, fond tones he took when speaking of the humans he'd found such companionship with made it clear that Aziraphale had been in love with a fair number of them.

When Aziraphale was in love with someone, it was with every aspect of his being. Knowing all that, Crowley could hardly pretend that Aziraphale didn't have any fleshly desires – he was far too much of a hedonist not to, at any rate.

But he'd never expressed outright that he had any desire to engage in such activities with Crowley. It was becoming increasingly clear, though, that what he actually wanted to do was irrelevant. Gabriel was going to get what he wanted if they knew what was good for them.

"Yeah," Crowley said, forcing his throat to unstick as he smiled lazily over at Gabriel. "Of course. We've– we've kissed loads."

Gabriel looked at them both expectantly.

"Show me."

Crowley helplessly turned back to Aziraphale with a silent apology in his gaze.

Aziraphale stared back at him, something unfathomable lurking amidst the fear in his eyes. Crowley swallowed dryly, shifting forward in increments. "C'mere, angel," he murmured gently, and Aziraphale jerked a little closer, like a puppet with tangled strings.

Crowley reached out tentatively, stroking his thumb over Aziraphale's cheek, cupping the side of his jaw and slowly drawing closer. Aziraphale locked eyes with him, scarcely looking like he was breathing, seemingly unwilling to be the one to close the final distance. With another small shuffle, Crowley edged a little nearer, thighs flush, his other hand turning towards Aziraphale's palm. He slid his fingers between Aziraphale's, and the angel gripped on tight, but otherwise didn't move.

Conscious of Gabriel watching their every move with laser-like focus, Crowley let his gaze drop to Aziraphale's mouth, telegraphing his movements so that the angel couldn't possibly be caught by surprise when Crowley pressed his lips to Aziraphale's own.

Still, Aziraphale didn't respond other than tightening his fingers around Crowley's, mouth slack as Crowley kissed him with increasing desperation. He pulled away briefly, trying to gauge the emotions in Aziraphale's eyes, but the angel was refusing to look at him now. He could see Gabriel frowning attentively at them from the corner of his eye, and he quickly returned to the kiss, lest the Archangel start wondering why they'd stopped, even going so far as to swipe his tongue along Aziraphale's bottom lip to encourage him to react. Aziraphale's mouth remained just as unresponsive as before, his entire body pressing back into the sofa, trying to move as far away from Crowley as he could get.

He was doing this right, wasn't he? Sure, Aziraphale had a far greater wealth of experience when it came to kissing, but Crowley couldn't be that awful at it, could he? He'd certainly seen the motions performed often enough in his existence, even if he'd never participated himself, beyond a friendly greeting. He couldn't possibly be doing such a poor job of translating his observations into action that Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to reciprocate.

Why wasn't Aziraphale responding? Despite how fraught their situation was, if he actually wanted to kiss Crowley back, surely he would have gotten over his initial shock and done it by now?

Fuck, fuck, Aziraphale didn't want this at all, he really did only love Crowley as a friend, he didn't want any affection from him that wasn't platonic, he–

Aziraphale let out a broken, shuddery little sound, somewhere between a sigh and a sob, and finally began kissing back, tongue questing exploratorily into Crowley's mouth.

His free hand rose to Crowley's cheek, manicured fingers sliding along the nape of his neck and burying themselves in auburn hair, thumb resting lightly against Crowley's ear. "Crowley," he whispered, the word barely more than a suggestion of movement on his lips.

Crowley felt his heart simultaneously soar and go plummeting through his shoes. The way Aziraphale had said his name, with such an aching longing, such a desperate need, instantly dispelled any doubt Crowley had ever had about Aziraphale loving Crowley how Crowley loved him.

It was almost worse than thinking his feelings weren't reciprocated. His utter elation at being proven wrong clashed with despair at their situation in a way that made his stomach churn. He tried to choke out Aziraphale's name in response, but it got caught in his throat. Instead, he tilted Aziraphale's head back to kiss him more deeply, letting his actions speak for him. Aziraphale made another soft sound, cheeks damp against Crowley's as tears clung to his lashes.

Their first kiss shouldn't have been like this.

It should have been a sunny day in the park, Aziraphale blushing softly at him from across a picnic blanket, the angel's lips tasting of cheese and wine and sunshine. It should have been on the bookshop's front step as Crowley dropped Aziraphale home after going to see a play, his summer-sky eyes cast in silver by the moonlight, the pink in his cheeks still somehow visible as he reached out and pulled Crowley in close. It should have been late at night in the bookshop's back room, Aziraphale's hair a golden halo in the rosy glow of the table lamps, pressing Crowley against a bookshelf as his teeth tugged gently at the demon's bottom lip.

Anything but being sat on a conjured couch in a glorified prison in Heaven, forced to kiss for the pleasure of their overly inquisitive captor.

Crowley tried to block it out; to pretend that the only angel around was the one shivering against him, that they were the only two creatures in existence. That this moment was something that they were experiencing in private, of their own volition, for no other reason than the fact that they were in love and could finally admit it.

One of Gabriel's hands slid over Crowley's shoulder, the touch light but the weight of it still oppressive, shattering the tenuous fantasy.

"Can I have a turn?" he asked hopefully.

Aziraphale's lips left Crowley's with a quiet gasp, eyes filled with terror as he stared helplessly up at him. He trembled against Crowley's skin, the hand he had locked around the demon's squeezing tighter than a vice.

Crowley stroked Aziraphale's cheek again, giving him a determined look before pulling away, turning to face Gabriel. "'Course," he said, forcing a smile.

Gabriel grinned eagerly back, both hands rising to cup Crowley's face as he swept in for a kiss. Crowley's fingers, still tangled in Aziraphale's, were crushed between the two of them as Gabriel pressed in. Crowley could feel Aziraphale tensing behind him, breath stuttering behind Crowley's ear. Gabriel's mouth was insistent against his, and Crowley found himself cracking open under the onslaught, Gabriel's tongue sliding between his lips.

Where Aziraphale had tasted like home, Gabriel tasted purely of Heaven – bright and sharp with an edge of ozone. It didn't take long for the flavour of Aziraphale's kiss to be obliterated entirely, and soon there was only Gabriel, pressing in and overpowering his senses.

"Mgmf," Crowley tried, his flailing free hand coming to rest on Gabriel's shoulder and pushing back. Gabriel didn't budge for a second, long enough for it to be obvious that no amount of force on Crowley's part would have moved him, then the Archangel pulled back, a confused look on his face.

"That didn't seem right," he said.

"No," Crowley agreed hoarsely, shifting so that he wasn't crushed up against Aziraphale. "It wasn't."

"Show me, then," Gabriel told him, shuffling back against the opposite arm of the sofa, one leg propped up on the cushions while the other dangled off the side. He patted his lap with what Crowley was sure was meant to be an inviting smile. "You kiss me."

Aziraphale was still close enough behind him that Crowley felt him tense. He gave Aziraphale's fingers a gentle squeeze, then reluctantly let go, forcing himself to crawl over to the Archangel.

Gabriel kept smiling at him, and Crowley did his best to mirror the expression.

"Like this," Crowley said, hands settling on Gabriel's shoulders for balance as he leant in close.

Their lips touched, and Gabriel mercifully showed some restraint this time around. The kiss was still uncoordinated to start, which Crowley wasn't particularly surprised by, given both their lack of experience with non-platonic kissing. After a fashion, though, he was able to navigate them towards something reasonable. Gabriel's hands curled around his waist and he tried not to tremble, acutely aware of just how fragile his corporation was in the Archangel's grip, how easy it would be for Gabriel to break him.

Gabriel sucked gently at Crowley's bottom lip. Surprised, Crowley let out a soft sound, mouth involuntarily opening wider. He felt his heartrate increase in panic, worried that Gabriel would take his reaction as a cue to press in overwhelmingly again, but instead, Gabriel pulled away altogether.

"Oh, you're right, that was much better." He eased Crowley back and beamed sunnily at Aziraphale. "OK, now it's your turn."

Aziraphale remained frozen where he was. "Oh, I-I don't know that I…"

Crowley quickly interjected, feeling Aziraphale's panic beginning to mount once more. "You have to go a bit slower with Aziraphale," he told Gabriel. "He doesn't like taking things too fast."

A complicated expression crossed Aziraphale's face. "Yes, I… that is to say, Crowley and I didn't even advance our relationship until after the Apocalypse, this is all very… sudden."

"Exactly," Crowley agreed, ignoring the lump in his throat. They _had_ been moving towards that, to having a gentle, shy courtship filled with wondrous exploration and reshaping of their boundaries. Now, those boundaries were being casually torn asunder by someone who didn't even understand what he was destroying. "I felt the way I do about Aziraphale for millennia before he was able to admit he felt the same."

"Millennia?" Aziraphale echoed faintly.

"Yeah," Crowley murmured, twisting around to face Aziraphale fully, threading their fingers together. He wished, for the umpteenth time, that the Archangel wasn't witnessing this. "Worth every second spent waiting for you to catch up."

Gabriel grimaced. "It'll be quicker with me, though, right? I don't want to wait that long for you to start loving me."

Aziraphale somehow managed to go a shade paler.

"I mean," Gabriel continued, oblivious, "I'm an angel, too, surely that's gotta count for something."

"I'm sure it will," Crowley replied, voice somehow normal despite the knot of loathing lodged in his throat. "Maybe we just try some cuddling, for now?" he suggested, hoping he could get away with that in favour of some of the other, more horrifyingly intimate, options that Gabriel might come up with if left to think for himself.

"How does that work?"

"You just sort of… snuggle in, like this." Crowley nestled himself against Gabriel despite not wanting to even touch him, resting his head on the Archangel's shoulder. He gently tugged Aziraphale against his own side, and the angel went stiffly, burying his face against Crowley's jumper as he clutched tight at the fabric.

"…And that's it?" Gabriel asked.

"That's about it, yeah," Crowley replied. "Just enjoying each other's company."

"This is… nice," Gabriel said dubiously. Crowley felt his stomach sink through his feet, all the way down past the bowels of Hell, as he realised that it wasn't going to be long at all before Gabriel wanted more.


	5. Chapter 5

Mercifully, Gabriel didn't grow so bored of cuddling that he insisted on doing something else before he had to leave again to attend to his duties.

Crowley let out a shaky breath once he was gone, but didn't feel any steadier. "We need to figure out how to get out of here. He's even dumber than he looks if he thinks we'll ever actually fall in love with him like this."

Aziraphale cast an alarmed look around the room, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Didn't you say he might have bugged the house?"

He shook his head, feel desolate and hollow. "No, angel. He wasn't lying when he said he didn't need to. We're not getting out of here unless he lets us go, and somehow I don't see that happening anytime soon."

"But..." Aziraphale's voice wavered. "Surely we can reason with him, we just haven't been able to explain properly. Once he understands that he can't force us to love him–"

"No, Aziraphale," Crowley said, as gently as he could. "He's got himself convinced that this will all go the way he wants it to, he isn't going to listen to any dissenting opinions we've got on the subject. You've been up here with him for a few days, now, you're telling me you didn't try to tell him this wouldn't work? That he didn't immediately dismiss the possibility that he was making a mistake?"

"He... he said I was just being ridiculous," Aziraphale whispered. "That I just needed time, then I'd see that he was right all along." His voice trembled and cracked, face crumpling in despair. "I told him I wanted to go home, to you, and he took that to mean that he should bring you here. It's my fault you're here."

"Oi, give me some credit," Crowley chided. "The minute I'd realised Heaven had taken you, I would've charged in to find you, even without Gabriel telling me where you were."

"That doesn't change the fact that you wouldn't even have needed to come, if I hadn't been so foolish as to get myself trapped by him to start."

"He would've found some other way to get you here," Crowley said, quiet but firm. "D'you really think, if you'd just ignored his message, that he'd have just gone, 'oh well, too bad, guess that's my whole plan thwarted'? He's an Archangel, Aziraphale. There isn't anything we could have done, he would've caught up to us eventually even if we'd run." He forced a smile. "Hardly like pulling another swap would've done much."

"I would _never_ send you Up Here in my stead for something like this," Aziraphale replied vehemently.

Crowley's smile softened, became genuine. He gently brushed an errant curl away from Aziraphale's forehead, hands settling on the angel's shoulders. "I know you wouldn't, angel. You'd be at a loss if you didn't have me around to bother you."

Aziraphale nodded tightly in agreement, then, apropos of nothing, said, "I love you," and burst into tears.

"…Oh, Aziraphale, come here, no need for tears, now," Crowley murmured, heart doing all sorts of complicated acrobatics inside his chest as he drew Aziraphale into an embrace. Aziraphale clung to him and sobbed.

"I should have told you sooner," Aziraphale whispered into Crowley's jumper, a damp patch wicking through the fabric. "I was just so… I was so terrified that I wouldn't be enough, after all I've said and done to you over the millennia, and I wanted to apologise, I wanted it to be perfect, and now it's all _ruined_ –"

"Listen to me," Crowley said firmly, cutting through Aziraphale's spiralling panic. "First of all–" He swallowed, fighting against several thousands of years' worth of instincts to shove his softer feelings deep down into the depths of him. "First of all, I love you too, so you can stop that utter nonsense about not being enough for me. Second of all, no such thing as perfection. That was one of ours, actually, getting humans to drive themselves to despair in the pursuit of something that isn't even real– look, point is, you haven't ruined anything. I'm just happy you told me, doesn't matter that you weren't ready to before."

Aziraphale sniffed, not lifting his head. "And what's third?"

The ghost of a smile quirked Crowley's lips. "What makes you think there's a third?"

"Don't these sorts of things usually come in threes?"

"All right, thirdly, then." He spoke softly, arms tightening a fraction as he cradled Aziraphale to his chest, unable to help but revel in the fact that contact like this was now permitted to him. "We're going to get out of here. We'll play along with this new flavour of self-importance of Gabriel's, keep ourselves safe. We'll get him to trust us, have him think that we're on his side. He'll let his guard down eventually. We just need to wait until he gives us back enough freedom for us to escape."

"What then?" Aziraphale mumbled against his jumper. "You said it yourself, even if we manage to run off, he'll still think he's in the right, and track us down."

"Plan's a bit murky on that part at the moment," Crowley admitted. "We can worry about that a bit closer to, though. Besides, with any luck, the other Archangels will be too embarrassed that we outsmarted them, _again_ , that they'll all take the hint and leave us alone properly this time."

"I don't think that's particularly likely," Aziraphale said.

"No, s'pose we wouldn't be that lucky, would we?" Crowley murmured, fingers tangling gently in Aziraphale's curls. "We'll just have to work at it as we go." He huffed out a laugh. "Who would've thought that a millennium of actively trying to get away with doing the bare minimum would catch up to us, eh?"

Aziraphale's voice was small. "You don't regret it, do you?"

"What, the Arrangement? No, of course not. Skiving off work was only half the reason I even suggested it in the first place." He kept stroking Aziraphale's hair. "The other half was because it gave me an excuse to spend more time with you."

"Only half?" Aziraphale joked weakly into his chest. Crowley smiled against his blond curls, relieved beyond measure that the angel had calmed enough to speak with some levity.

"A very big half," Crowley assured.

The moment of light-heartedness faded as soon as it had come, Aziraphale pulling back from his embrace. "What you're suggesting we do… Crowley, I don't know that I have the stomach for it. I worry that I'd not be able to stand it, and end up giving the game away, and put you in danger. I know how inadequately I reacted to him wanting to… to kiss me, I'm not sure I could…"

"Then you don't have to," Crowley told him, even as he felt his throat swell with fear. "I'll do it."

Aziraphale looked stricken. "Absolutely not, I won't have you… _subjugating_ yourself on my behalf, whilst I just sit back and let it happen!"

"But wouldn't it be better, for only one of us to go through it?" Crowley urged. "If it only takes one of us to keep him satisfied, to begin with, why give him more than that?" He shrugged uncomfortably. "Just saying. 'M a demon, after all, bit more my wheelhouse than yours."

Aziraphale's face went very pale. "Are you saying you've been…"

"No, no, been lucky enough to avoid any of that." He swallowed. "'Til now, that is. Bit ironic, isn't it?" He summoned a mirthless smile. "Managed to avoid any demons taking advantage all these years, and it's going to be an angel that gets me."

"I'm so sorry," Aziraphale whispered, gaze dropping to the floor. "I never should have let you be put in this position."

"I really don't think there's much you could've done to stop it, angel. It's not your fault he's more powerful than you are." He reached out, putting a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder. "Besides, it's more dangerous for me to make him angry, rather than you. You saw how he got when we tried to leave. If he smites me, even if it's just by accident, then it's straight back to Hell for me. You'd be stuck up here, alone with him, and I wouldn't be able to reach you." His hand moved to Aziraphale's jaw, gently tilting his head up. "I don't want to leave you, Aziraphale. This way gives us the best chance of at least getting through this, together."

"I _despise_ this," Aziraphale said vehemently, eyes glistening. "Discussing the best way for us to– good _lord_ , Crowley, how is he just allowed to take what he wants, with no real regard or understanding of what the consequences of his actions are? In what world is that just or fair?"

"World isn't just or fair, a lot of the time," Crowley pointed out. "Sometimes there's nothing you can do, except make the best of whatever situation you're stuck in."

"I really can't see that there's a bright side to all this."

"Well," Crowley said, casting about for a silver lining. "At least he's more likely to be gentle about it, than if all this was happening Down There."

Aziraphale's expression didn't shift. Crowley pressed his lips together in a thin line, then spoke again. "This is still the best way."

Tears fell from Aziraphale's eyes as he shook his head. "I can't ask this of you."

"You're not the one asking," Crowley replied. "I am."

"Then my answer is no!" Aziraphale retorted.

"You're not the one I'm asking," Crowley told him gently. "I promised you I wasn't going to let him touch you, and I'm going to keep that promise as long as I can. You aren't going to be able to stop me."

"I can't let you do this, Crowley."

He shrugged. "You don't have a choice," he said matter-of-factly. "We've already told him that he's going to need to go slower with you than with me, anyway. It's really out of both our hands."

"Oh, God," Aziraphale whispered, face crumpling as he realised he wasn't going to win this argument. He reached out and pulled Crowley into a tight embrace.

"I know. I'm sorry," Crowley whispered back, returning the hug with equal ferocity.

––––––––––––––––––––––

The days blurred into weeks at an alarming rate. Aziraphale was startled one day to realise that they'd been held captive in Heaven for almost a month.

He really couldn't bring himself to call their prison a home, no matter what Gabriel had intended it to be. It was like it was a display house for a new development, or perhaps something plucked straight out of an interior decorating magazine. It wasn't somewhere someone actually lived, made a life for themselves, formed lifelong happy memories.

But they were trapped inside it all the same, like insects imprisoned in a jar by a young child yet to comprehend the concept of death.

The only real mercy to be found was that Gabriel was out of the house more often than not, attending to his work, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley to their own devices. Whilst Aziraphale longed for something more to do than sit around without even a book to read, the tense boredom was still infinitely preferable than when Gabriel was present. Gabriel had apparently accepted, for now, that Aziraphale wasn't going to develop romantic inclinations towards him overnight. The knowledge didn't really put Aziraphale at ease, though, given that it would only be a matter of time before Gabriel's patience began to wear thin. Already, the Archangel would give him anticipatory looks now and again; he wasn't going to wait for Aziraphale to take the initiative forever.

Crowley occupied his spare time analysing the rooms over and over, looking for some kind of weakness that they could exploit. Aziraphale let him, knowing that it was better for him to have _something_ to do, even if it was pointless. Uriel's sigil work had always been impeccable, Aziraphale doubted Crowley's ability to crack it, even if he'd had access to his powers. Aziraphale half-heartedly trailed after him on occasion as he explored, Crowley yanking open cupboards as if there would be a convenient tunnel leading to freedom hidden inside.

There wasn't, of course. The shelves were largely empty, except for some areas where Gabriel had seemed to realise that cupboards were meant to store things: a bible in the bedroom nightstand, a first aid kit and an assortment of hygiene products under the sink in the bathroom, several different sleek appliances in the kitchen pantry. No actual food to speak of – although Aziraphale, for once, didn't have much of an appetite – further cementing the fact that this place was only a facsimile of somewhere that was actually lived in, rather than just happening to be the space they were currently occupying.

Gabriel insisted on acting as if it was the real thing, though, loudly proclaiming that he was home whenever he returned. He'd looked at them both expectantly the first time, prompting Aziraphale to offer him a feeble, "Welcome home," and, when that didn't seem to satisfy him, for Crowley to give him a smile and a kiss on the cheek. Gabriel hadn't demanded the same of him, yet, nor had he demanded more of Crowley, but it would only be a matter of time for both.

When it did finally happen, Aziraphale still wasn't ready for it.

Crowley had given Gabriel his now-customary kiss on the cheek. Gabriel had smiled in return, turning to the demon to kiss him fully on the mouth, as had become his habit. The sight never failed to make Aziraphale's stomach curdle.

This time, however, Gabriel turned to Aziraphale afterwards, and beckoned for him to come closer. "Come on, Aziraphale. Don't you think it's about time you welcome me home with a kiss, too?"

Aziraphale froze, throat closing over in fear.

He knew that silence wasn't a response that was going to get him far, though. It would only make Gabriel angry before long, and then the choice would be taken away from him, regardless. Wouldn't it be better, to acquiesce? To not risk Gabriel's wrath, to better lull the Archangel into a false sense of security?

Gabriel's smile dimmed. "Aziraphale, I asked you nicely. I've been very patient with you. Why aren't you doing what I asked?"

"I-I can't," Aziraphale managed to whisper.

"You mean you don't want to," Gabriel said, his smile slipping away entirely as he stepped away from Crowley, instead moving towards Aziraphale with purpose. "You're supposed to love me, Aziraphale. Why don't you want to kiss me?" he demanded, grabbing Aziraphale by the shoulders. Crowley started forward like he was barely keeping himself from shouting in protest, the anxiety in his eyes ratcheting right up alongside Aziraphale's.

Aziraphale blanched, trembling in Gabriel's grip. "I-It isn't that I don't– I-I'm not, it isn't," he stuttered, well aware that he was babbling but too terrified to stop himself.

"Crowley's fine with it, why aren't you?"

Tears welled in Aziraphale's eyes as he tried to stammer an adequate response.

"Gabriel, wait," Crowley cut in as Gabriel's grip tightened. "Aziraphale needs to take things slower than I do, remember? You can't compare the two of us like that. Trying to rush him isn't going to get you anywhere."

Gabriel's hands tightened a fraction further before he finally relaxed, letting Aziraphale go. Aziraphale sagged a bit, but managed to keep himself upright.

"I'm sorry, you're right, Crowley. I shouldn't have yelled," Gabriel said, reaching out and smoothing down where he'd rumpled Aziraphale's suit. "But I still think you're being a little unreasonable about all this, Aziraphale. You should probably take some time to calm down, then you'll see that all I want is to show you that I love you."

Aziraphale shrank down, eyes darting to Crowley for a brief moment before returning, terrified, to Gabriel. Much as the thought of giving Gabriel a kiss – or more – made him feel lightheaded with nausea, leaving Crowley to deal with him alone was even worse.

"I'm, I'm fine, really, I can stay–" Aziraphale tried, voice wobbling perilously. Gabriel cut him off.

"I can see that it's frustrating for you, too, we both want the same thing," he said soothingly. "It's not your fault you're not ready for more yet, I promise I don't blame you." He spun Aziraphale by the shoulders, steering him towards the bedroom. "Besides, I've got Crowley to keep me company until you're ready for more, too."

The tears spilt over as Aziraphale cast a helpless look in Crowley's direction. "I don't–"

"I get that you want to be ready for more, I do," Gabriel said, cutting off his wavering protest. "But I think pushing you now'll just make you more upset, I don't want that." He opened the bedroom door and nudged Aziraphale inside. "You get yourself calmed down, and we can try again later, OK?"

So saying, Gabriel shut the door in Aziraphale's tearstained face, and locked him inside.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning that, as I'm sure you've gathered, there will be noncon this chapter, and most chapters from here on out, for a good little while.
> 
> I've also now reached the end of my buffer, unfortunately, and with my current uni obligations, I'm unlikely to be able to complete the next chapter by next Tuesday. I do, however, have an unrelated oneshot that is largely done which I'll likely post next Tuesday, instead. 
> 
> On a positive note, though, the word count for this fic, including WIP, makes it officially my longest GO fic!

Gabriel gave vent to a sigh, leaning his weight against the door for a few seconds before turning back towards Crowley, face smoothing back out. "Sorry about that," he said, all broad grin as he approached. Crowley dragged his gaze away from the bedroom door, fighting the instinct to scramble away from Gabriel's advancing form.

"'S fine," Crowley managed, voice barely cracking. Gabriel took a seat on the sofa, unbuttoning his suit jacket. He fairly sprawled against the cushions, legs spread, one arm hooked over the back of the couch, the other laid across the armrest. Crowley hovered awkwardly, wanting to put off having to sit next to Gabriel for as long as possible.

"Really, I should've expected it, from him. I was hoping that we'd all be able to start getting intimate with each other today, have you both start sharing your love with me properly, but if he's still not ready for something as small as a kiss, I think it's going to be a while for him." Gabriel waved a hand dismissively, then beckoned Crowley over with a tilt of his lips. "You, you're a demon, though. You've done it a lot."

He had not.

Ever, in fact.

Crowley had only ever tempted humans with the world, not with himself. That was the whole point. Besides, they lived such fleeting lives, it had never seemed entirely fair to get too entangled with them, particularly when it was his job to try and get them consigned to Hell. It tended to kill the mood, just a little.

His own kind didn't really offer many appealing prospects, either – even once you'd set aside the generally repulsive location options for a bit of slap and tickle down in Hell, letting his guard down around another demon enough for something like that would have just been asking for trouble. He'd been lucky enough, there, to be able to avoid it entirely.

Angels, well… he'd been working on that part, until Gabriel had so rudely upended everything.

But he'd seen it done, countless times. Had helped orchestrate it on a number of occasions, in fact – nothing like the lure of sexual gratification for getting humans to make stupid decisions, after all. And he'd taken himself in hand more than his fair share of times over the millennia – having quite thoroughly enjoyed himself in doing so – so he couldn't be completely inept.

Crowley smiled at Gabriel even as his stomach clenched. "'Course. I've got all kinds of tricks I bet you'll enjoy."

Gabriel frowned, something dangerously like suspicion tightening his eyes. "Tricks?"

"Talents," Crowley amended hastily, clumsy with fear as he stumbled to his knees before Gabriel. Better to let the Archangel feel dominant, without the need for Crowley to be pinned beneath him. At least it would leave Crowley some small measure of control. He shuffled in close between Gabriel's spread legs, skin prickling uncomfortably through the thin weave of his own clothes as he brushed against Gabriel's trouser leg. He rested a tentative hand against the Archangel's knee, fear sliding down a notch or two at Gabriel's soft inhalation. "I can show you, if you like." He trailed his fingers gingerly along the inseam of Gabriel's trousers, ready to pull back in an instant if the Archangel reacted negatively. "That's why you had me stay out here, isn't it?"

"I guess you're right," Gabriel replied begrudgingly, legs spreading a little wider as he settled in. Crowley cautiously splayed his palms against Gabriel's thighs, thumbs kneading gently into flesh as he inched upwards. He couldn't help but notice, trepidation filling him, that the bulge in Gabriel's trousers was slowly beginning to swell to a rather alarming size.

"Mm," Gabriel murmured, gazing down at Crowley with half-lidded eyes. "That feels nice."

"I can do a lot more than that," Crowley told him, fingers creeping for Gabriel's belt. "May I?"

Gabriel waved him on imperiously, and Crowley bit back a snarl at the arrogant gesture. He somehow kept his fingers from shaking as he undid the buckle, soon working down the fly beneath.

Gabriel's cock jumped under his fingers, and Crowley swallowed down his nervousness, hoping that Gabriel would just read it as him being eager. His hand slipped down under Gabriel's waistband, gently coaxing the fabric down to expose the Archangel's cock.

Crowley almost let out a cry of despair at the sight of it. It was even bigger than he'd feared, and there was no chance that asking Gabriel to reduce its size would go over well.

Swallowing to force down his trepidation, as well as to try and bring some moisture back to his suddenly dry mouth, Crowley pulled Gabriel's trousers and underwear down to his ankles to allow for easier access. Gabriel watched him, inquisitive, and Crowley swallowed desperately again.

He reached up and circled his hand around Gabriel's cock. Or tried to, at least, as apparently it was thick enough around that Crowley's fingers barely touched.

"Oh," Gabriel sighed softly, settling into the sensation.

All right. OK. This was manageable. Gabriel seemed quite content to gently roll his hips up into the circle of Crowley's fist as the demon slowly pumped his cock, maybe Crowley could get away with only doing that much, at least for the first time around. After all, Gabriel hadn't done any of this before, either, wouldn't it make sense for him to defer to Crowley's supposed expertise? It wasn't like Gabriel would be able to tell the difference. 

Crowley began to build a proper rhythm, adding in a twist of the wrist at the peak of the upstroke so that his fingers swirled along the head of Gabriel's cock, making the Archangel tip his head back against the couch with a groan.

Crowley shuffled in a little closer so that he could get a better grip. That ended up being a bad idea, apparently, because Gabriel's eyes dropped to Crowley's lips, and the next words he said were, "Can you use your mouth, too?"

"'Course. Just working my way up to it," Crowley assured him, voice somehow remaining steady. Bleakly, he realised that not having his voice shake was about to be a moot point. He licked his lips reflexively, desperately trying to summon any moisture at all into his dry mouth. It was clear he'd have to make do with what he had.

He fought to keep his upper lip from curling in distaste as he ran his tongue over the head of Gabriel's cock. He almost recoiled at the bitter taste of precum, shuddering instead and letting it wet his tongue, before dragging it back down Gabriel's length. Crowley's salivary glands finally seemed to get the message, and Crowley was able to suck the head of Gabriel's cock into his mouth without any dry skin catching anywhere.

At least Crowley's lack of a gag reflex was simply something inherent to him, instead of something that required an active miracle. He almost wished that he did have just that extra bit of control over his corporation, to allow his tongue to fork so that he could do more interesting things with it, but quickly dismissed the thought. No reason to give Gabriel any more pleasure than was necessary – just enough that he'd see fit to keep Crowley around, rather than smiting him.

"This is all right for you, isn't it?" Gabriel asked. "It feels like it's a lot for you to take in one go, even though it does feel very nice for me." His fingers carded through Crowley's hair, blunt nails scratching gently at his scalp. "You'll tell me if it's too much, right?"

Crowley hummed vaguely and sank a little further down, hoping that he'd be able to distract the Archangel enough with the dexterity of his tongue to make him shut up already.

Gabriel let out a pleased sound, tipping his head back. "Oh, Crowley," he groaned. "Your mouth, you feel so–"

His fingers tightened in Crowley's hair suddenly, pinning him with Gabriel's cock jammed all the way down his throat. "You _are_ doing this out of love, aren't you?" he asked quietly. "This isn't all one big temptation, is it, Crowley? You haven't been lying to me, to Aziraphale, this whole time? I'd be very upset with you if that was the case."

Crowley froze, doing his best to not so much as gurgle around the cock in his throat as his pulse thundered in his ears. The air hummed with static electricity, the hairs on Crowley's arms standing to terrified attention as the lilac of Gabriel's eyes took on a stormy edge.

Just as quickly, Gabriel's expression cleared, hand relaxing so that it was resting against the back of Crowley's head, rather than holding him down, smiling at the demon once more. Crowley didn't dare move even without the restriction, still reeling from the sudden mood change.

"Of course it's not that," Gabriel said, stroking his hair. "God wouldn't have blessed you with the ability to withstand holy water if you were just pretending to be in love, would She? That you can love at all despite being Fallen is clearly Her doing."

Crowley let out a small, choked sound despite himself. If God was actually paying attention to him, let alone caring about what happened to him, he wouldn't be in this situation.

Gabriel smiled, oblivious to his fear. "Sorry, I interrupted you. You can keep going."

Crowley shook slightly as he pulled back, and it took a concerted effort to push himself back down again. Gabriel's cock was still hard as steel against his tongue, not flagging at all despite the burst of anger. Crowley didn't want to think too long on what that might indicate about Gabriel's sexual appetites. The appreciative groan that fell from Gabriel's lips, the fingers twining possessively in his hair once more, told Crowley that this wasn't all just a passing fancy. Gabriel was going to want to do this again.

At some point, he was going to want to do it to Aziraphale.

But maybe, Crowley thought desperately as he swallowed Gabriel down to the root, hand rising to gently knead the Archangel's balls, if he did a good enough job, Gabriel would always turn to Crowley for this, and leave Aziraphale alone. He was a demon, after all, wasn't he, wasn't this what he was good for? At least Crowley would be able to spare Aziraphale this, seeing how any opportunity to escape had yet to present itself. Better, after all, to only have one of them subjected to this, rather than both, and Crowley was here on his knees already.

Gabriel moaned happily, letting his head fall back against the couch once more. Crowley pressed in closer, swallowing Gabriel down over and over, struggling not to get so impatient that he inadvertently made this ordeal drag out longer than it needed to.

It took a distressingly long time for Gabriel to begin to lose his composure, his breathing growing heavier as his hips started to jump up towards Crowley's mouth. The little jumps soon became uncoordinated thrusts. Crowley tried to swallow Gabriel all the way down, not wanting to taste it when he came, but Gabriel's motions as he reached his end proved too unpredictable. Salty cum flooded over Crowley's palate and he almost choked, leaving him with no real option other than swallowing it. Gabriel thrust into his mouth again at the sensation, groaning in pleasure.

Once he was sure Gabriel was done, Crowley cautiously pulled back, letting Gabriel's cock fall from his mouth. He finally closed his swollen lips, his throat sore, his jaw aching, the smell of sex inescapable when he closed his eyes.

  
"Wow," Gabriel said, a blissful smile on his face. He snapped his fingers to set himself to rights, rather than bothering with doing up his trousers manually. "I can see why you'd enjoy that so much, that felt fantastic."

"Always been skilled with my tongue, me," Crowley managed hoarsely, wobbling to his feet. Gabriel grabbed hold of his waist once he was close enough, spinning him around and pulling him down. Helplessly, Crowley went with the motion, back pressed to Gabriel's chest, doing his best not to rest his weight against Gabriel's crotch for fear of exciting him enough for a second round.

"Oh, I definitely agree," Gabriel enthused, smiling against Crowley's ear. His hand slid up the inside of Crowley's thigh, making him fight the urge to snap them shut defensively, and pressed against the crux of Crowley's trousers. Horrifyingly, Crowley realised that he wasn't entirely soft, and the way Gabriel was gently palming at his cock was putting it on the fast track to full hardness.

He wished for his normal tight clothing anew, anything to impede Gabriel's progress as he undid the fly on Crowley's trousers and thumbed at the waistband of his underwear.

He didn't want this, didn't want Gabriel touching him, didn't want his body to arch up into Gabriel's hand the way it was–

"This is how you did it, right?" Gabriel asked, fingers curling around Crowley's cock and squeezing.

"N– ah! Not so tight!" Crowley yelped reflexively, hands seizing at the couch cushions, barely keeping himself from yanking against Gabriel's grip and making things worse.

"Oh, sorry," Gabriel said, immediately slackening his grip to something more comfortable. Crowley's heart kept slamming itself desperately against his ribcage, even as Gabriel took great care, now, to keep his grip gentle as he inexpertly stroked it along Crowley's length, clumsily mimicking the motions Crowley had performed on him earlier. Crowley trembled and turned his face away, which almost made it worse, letting out an involuntary gasp and gaze snapping back down whenever Gabriel changed his pattern.

Slowly, Gabriel got a handle on what he was meant to be doing, motions growing more assured. Crowley began to whimper and moan without meaning to, the sounds only seeming to bolster Gabriel's confidence.

It quickly became clear to Crowley that there was only one conclusion to this – Gabriel was going to make him cum.

He tried to resist it, baulking at the prospect of Gabriel wringing pleasure from him. Crowley twisted his head away again, scalp still throbbing from where Gabriel had tightened his grip in anger earlier. His hands clutched at the couch cushions in an attempt to anchor himself, but there was no escape, Gabriel's hold around his cock persistent and inexorable. It became inevitable, and Crowley finally gave up, not wanting to let it drag out any longer than it had already, just wanting it to be over. He closed his eyes, bit down hard on his bottom lip to stifle any sounds he might otherwise make. He was achingly conscious of Aziraphale locked up in the next room over.

Then he was gone, hips fucking up into Gabriel's fist of their own accord. For a few brief seconds, his brain was just a white shock, leaving him unable to actually think or process anything, his toes curling inside his shoes. All too soon, though, reality reasserted itself, leaving him with the sickening realisation of what had just been done to him.

"There you go, wasn't that nice?" Gabriel murmured as Crowley panted harshly in his lap. The Archangel looked down at the stickiness coating his fingers, splattered across Crowley's stomach, and made a displeased sound. "I really wish it wasn't this messy, though."

Before Crowley even had the chance to properly catch his breath, Gabriel clicked his fingers, and he found himself clad in an entirely new set of clothing, clean and smelling faintly of lavender. Instead of the soft jumper he'd been wearing previously, Gabriel had now dressed him in a suit barely a few shades darker than his own, a pale tie tightened around his throat like a noose. Crowley swallowed reflexively, feeling like Gabriel's claim over him had just been laid down anew.

"Much better," Gabriel said, curling a possessive arm around Crowley's midsection, more securely holding the demon in his lap. He let out a self-satisfied sound into Crowley's hair. "Y'know, after all that, I think I'm starting to come around on this whole cuddling thing, I like it like this."

Crowley said nothing as Gabriel settled in with a happy sigh.

Even with the fresh set of unsullied clothes, Crowley doubted that he'd ever be able to completely cover up his shame.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovelies! Still slogging away at the uni grind (almost there!), however I did have enough of this chapter written that I've been able to chip away at it over the last few weeks (incidentally, it's the longest chapter for this fic to date – albeit only by 3 words, but still).
> 
> That said, I did end up reshuffling what I'd planned for this chapter originally, so there's no actual noncon this chapter, nor will there be in the chapter after (although it will still be alluded to). Chapter 9, however, will heavily feature noncon again.

Gabriel eventually let out a discontented sigh, signalling to Crowley that he wanted to get up. Crowley managed not to move too eagerly, feeling a cool rush of relief against his back where he'd been pressed up against Gabriel.

The Archangel smiled ruefully at him. "Guess you know what I'm about to say, huh?"

"'S all right, you're a busy angel," he assured. "Can't get mad at you for having to go. Duty calls, all that."

"I'm glad you understand," Gabriel told him warmly, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "You know I wish I could spend more time with you, you're teaching me so much already and I'm excited to learn more. But, like you said." He shrugged regretfully. "Duty calls."

He did up the buttons of his suit jacket and straightened out the cuffs, making out like he was about to leave.

Crowley's throat went suddenly dry.

"Aren't you going to–" He swallowed thickly, still tasting salt and musk. At least the stink of it hadn't lingered after Gabriel had changed his clothes for him. "What about Aziraphale? Wouldn't want to leave him locked up in there still if he's already calmed down, or if he gets there while you're out, hardly seems fair to him.”

"Oh, right, of course," Gabriel replied, like the other angel's presence in the next room over had completely slipped his mind, and clicked his fingers. Crowley fought the urge to run over to the bedroom door to see whether Gabriel had actually unlocked it, only barely holding himself back. The instant Gabriel had vanished in his customary flash of lightning, Crowley raced for the door, already pressing down on the handle before he realised how Aziraphale might react to someone just bursting into the room unannounced.

He forced himself to settle and knocked on the door. "Angel? It's just me, he's left for the moment," he called out.

There was a hesitant response from the other side of the door, the muffled syllables indistinct but vaguely in the shape of Crowley's name, a trembling, questioning lilt at the end.

Swallowing, Crowley told him, louder this time, "Aziraphale, I'm going to open the door, all right?"

No sound came from inside, the thick door likely smothering any potential sound Aziraphale's feet would have made on the soft carpet. Crowley inched the door open a fraction, and called out again, "Angel, 's just me, he's gone for now."

"Crowley?" Came the response, clearer now that the door was cracked. Crowley eased it open just far enough to slip into the room, and Aziraphale was immediately by his side. His hands fluttered anxiously, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to touch, like he wasn't sure if that was something Crowley would want.

"Are you all right?" he asked tremulously. "I couldn't really hear what was going on, but I thought I heard you shout at one point, did he hurt you, I swear if he hurt you–"

"He didn't hurt me, I'm fine," Crowley assured, the tender spot on his scalp throbbing with the lie. It wasn't as if there was anything Aziraphale could really do about it, anyway. He took Aziraphale's fluttering hands between his own and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

Aziraphale didn't seem to entirely buy it, anxiety pressing into the cracks and crevasses of his face, making him look each of his six thousand years.

Crowley sighed. "Look, it is what it is, all we can do is make the best of our situation, right?"

"Right," Aziraphale agreed shakily, nodding too many times. His hands twitched against Crowley's, so clearly wanting to draw Crowley close to his chest but so clearly worried that further touch would be unwelcome. Crowley's body seemed to move of its own will to put Aziraphale's concerns to rest, driven by the overwhelming urge to be held by someone that actually loved him, rather than seeing him as a means to an end. He stepped in close, head dropping down into the crook of Aziraphale's neck, breathing deep of the angel's scent to rid his nostrils of the lingering aroma of lavender.

Aziraphale drew him in without question. For all his earlier trembling, Aziraphale's arms around him were so steady and fierce that for a few moments, at least, Crowley could almost pretend that the sense of safety the embrace instilled in him wasn't something ephemeral and fleeting.

This was something they shared now, after all, seeking the solace of each other's arms when Gabriel wasn't around to try and insert himself into the embrace. The whispered affirmations of adoration, the brief stolen kisses, the love measured out in furtive scraps. Crowley still wasn't used to being able to see Aziraphale's eyes up so close, to being able to visually document all the different shades of colour they held without fear of being caught staring.

He ached to see them even now, to see his own love reflected back at him there, even tinged with sadness as it was. He pulled back slightly, and Aziraphale's eyes locked onto his own, just as perfect and filled to the brim with love as he remembered.

"I love you," he murmured, stroking Aziraphale's cheek.

"You know I love you, too," Aziraphale whispered back, tilting his face up towards Crowley's.

Crowley's gaze fell to Aziraphale's lips, and he leant into the angel with all the inevitability of a tree being felled, only to jerk away at the last second as he realised that Aziraphale might still be able to taste Gabriel on his tongue.

Aziraphale flinched at his reaction. "I'm sorry, I thought–"

"No, no, 's not you, never you, angel," Crowley assured, stepping close again and laying a hand on Aziraphale's arm. What was meant to be a soothing gesture ended up being Crowley clutching at the angel for support. "He..."

Aziraphale's gaze sharpened. "Crowley, what has he done?"

"It's nothing, it's, it's fine, I promise," Crowley said, pointedly ignoring where his scalp still ached from when Gabriel had held him down.

"Then why did you flinch away from kissing me?"

Bless it all, Crowley was a demon, he was supposed to be asking difficult questions, not answering them himself.

Aziraphale withdrew a little. "I'm sorry, you don't need to answer that if you don't wish to. It isn't fair of me to pry, especially not when you're…" He trailed off, looking away in shame.

"All I want is to keep you safe."

The angel's lip wobbled. "You shouldn't even be here, suffering for my sake. I should be able to protect you."

"It's all right, angel," Crowley soothed, cradling Aziraphale's cheek in one hand. Aziraphale leant into the touch with a troubled sigh. "I'm just a demon, after all, aren't I, something like this happening was always going to be easier for me than for you."

"Don't say that," Aziraphale rebuked, tone fierce for all that the words trembled. "You aren't _just_ anything."

Crowley said nothing, just leant their foreheads together, closed his eyes, and wondered whether if he hoped hard enough, Aziraphale's words would start to feel true.

––––––––––––––––––––––––

It took no time at all for the new pattern to settle in.

Gabriel would spend time with them intermittently, the eternal daylight of Heaven meaning that it wasn't uncommon for the Archangels' meetings to run into the days in length, sometimes, although he was usually gone for stretches of time between six and twelve hours, sometimes as little as three. Whenever he was around, he'd slowly push to try and get Aziraphale to show him more affection. Aziraphale would fold like a tower of cards every time, and he'd be locked away, with Crowley being forced to hold Gabriel's attention alone.

Crowley would always pretend to Aziraphale that nothing much had happened, that he was fine, really, nothing for Aziraphale to be upset about. But Aziraphale wasn't stupid, or blind. He saw the way Crowley's lips would sometimes be swollen with use when Gabriel left. He could read the subtext behind the fact that more often than not, Gabriel had changed Crowley into a different outfit between locking Aziraphale up and letting him out again.

Whenever Gabriel locked Aziraphale up in the bedroom, he'd torture himself by pressing his ear to the door, swallowing down the sobs that tried to form in his throat as he strained to hear anything from the next room. It was only ever the occasional appreciative groan from Gabriel, muffled into indistinction by the door; he never heard Crowley yelp in panic like he had the first time. If Crowley made any noise at all, it was too quiet to be heard through the door. Whilst Aziraphale could only hope that it at least meant that Gabriel was being gentle, a secret, shameful part of him was glad that he wasn't also hearing Crowley cry out in pleasure.

It was a despicable thing to think, he knew, but there wasn't a whole lot he could do to stop the intrusive thought from worming its way into his brain. He simply had to ignore it as best he could, and keep his vigil by the door.

Things always ended the same way – Gabriel would let out a loud, satisfied moan before lapsing into silence, or at least quiet enough thereafter that Aziraphale couldn't hear through the door. Aziraphale would be left on tenterhooks for hours on end, before the familiar rap of Crowley's knuckles on the door let him know the Archangel was gone. Aziraphale would open the door, and Crowley would slip inside, clearly eager to put as much physical distance between himself and whatever had just happened with Gabriel. He would keep his gaze averted from Aziraphale's, but he could still tell that Crowley's eyes were golden from side to side, no matter how quickly he buried his head into Aziraphale's chest, desperate to be embraced.

Aziraphale knew Crowley's eyes only went fully serpentine when his emotions were running high, or if he was under a lot of stress.

He hadn't seen the whites of Crowley's eyes in months.

––––––––––––––––––––––––

The pattern broke one day without warning.

Aziraphale had been sequestered to the bedroom, as per usual. It had been quiet outside for a good long while, and he kept himself plastered to the door, straining to hear the sound of Crowley's footsteps approaching, despite the fact that the first sign he got that Gabriel had left was always Crowley knocking on the door.

The knock finally came, and Aziraphale stumbled to his feet, eager to gently wrap Crowley in his arms, to offer whatever small measure of comfort he could before Gabriel inevitably returned. When he tried to press down on the handle, however, it stopped abruptly in his hand. A heavy, nauseating weight settled in the bottom of his stomach as he rattled the handle a few times, just to be sure, but it was all too apparent that the door was still locked.

After a beat, Crowley began to knock again, a deliberate pattern that only took Aziraphale a few seconds to realise was Morse code.

_He left. Too quick. I'm sorry._

Aziraphale stifled a distressed sob, trying not to let himself dwell on the fact that he was going to remain stuck for several hours more, at best. That at worst, it could be days.

_It's OK,_ he tapped out quickly, even as his hands trembled. _I love you._

_Love you too,_ came the painstaking response. Aziraphale rested his spare hand against the door, imagining to himself that Crowley was doing the same on the other side, that the only thing presently keeping them from being palm to palm was a few inches of solid oak.

_Talk to me still?_ He knocked out slowly.

_Of course,_ Crowley responded.

Aziraphale abruptly realised he'd been wallowing so much in how he was trapped in here without Crowley, that he'd all but overlooked that Crowley was also trapped alone on the other side of the door, albeit with more space to move around in. Not that that even mattered, really, Aziraphale knew that Crowley wouldn't leave the door until Gabriel came back. He would surely be beating himself up for not being able to stop Gabriel in time, never mind that he most definitely would have done everything he could to avoid this situation.

And that was without taking into consideration whatever Gabriel had been doing to Crowley before he'd left. Even though Crowley still refused to give Aziraphale any sort of indication of what Gabriel was getting up to, Aziraphale knew it wasn't nothing. Whenever Gabriel was gone, Crowley always asked Aziraphale to hold him tighter, some serpentine part of him settling at least a little under the compression. Aziraphale always complied, of course, embracing him fiercely, telling him how sorry he was, and how brave Crowley had been, and selfless, and how much Aziraphale loved him.

_Are you OK?_ Aziraphale tapped out before Crowley could add anything else.

There was just the slightest pause, and Aziraphale felt his heart ache. _All fine._

That was evidently a lie, but Aziraphale didn't think calling him out on it would help anything. _Glad,_ he responded instead.

_Knock knock_ , Crowley spelled out.

Aziraphale huffed out a laugh despite himself. _Who's there?_

It was obviously a diversionary tactic, but there was something so inherently absurd about Crowley telling him a knock-knock joke exclusively through knocking. Perhaps it was Aziraphale's standards of humour slipping after having been held captive for more than three months, but he dissolved into a fit of giggles and couldn't focus enough to parse out the punchline.

_Ha ha,_ he knocked back anyway once he'd gotten himself back under control. The punchline had likely been abysmal, anyway, Crowley delighted in telling terrible jokes.

_Got more,_ Crowley told him, and Aziraphale could just picture the crooked little grin on his face.

Aziraphale ached with fondness, and the desire to be holding Crowley in his arms. _My turn_ , he insisted, not wanting to burden Crowley with carrying the conversation when he'd already been burdened with so much else.

They traded knocks back and forth for hours, knuckles growing sore and red but not slowing them down in the slightest. The laborious pace of the conversation, and the mere fact that they were still able to indirectly keep each other company, made the time pass quickly. When Crowley abruptly stopped knocking mid-sentence, Aziraphale had a flash of panic, then realised with a jolt just how long it had been. Crowley suddenly stopping must have meant that Gabriel had finally returned, and Aziraphale clenched his hands tightly at his sides to keep himself from loosing a series of panicked knocks on the door asking what was going on.

Sure enough, mere moments later, the door was being opened.

"Ah, Aziraphale, there you are!" Gabriel stood in the doorway, his expression one of contrition as he extended a hand in Aziraphale's direction. "So sorry that you got left in here so long, crazy schedule, you completely slipped off the radar."

Aziraphale tried to determine whether there was any hint of a lie in his tone.

It didn't seem particularly likely, given that Gabriel wasn't exactly known for his duplicity, but, well… he _had_ tried to have Aziraphale executed before, or at least who he thought was Aziraphale. Aziraphale couldn't completely discount the possibility that Gabriel had 'forgotten' to unlock the door to punish Aziraphale for taking so long to return his affections, or perhaps for the possibility that Aziraphale would be so grateful at being let out again that he'd kiss the Archangel of his own volition.

The more plausible scenario, however, was still that Gabriel truly had forgotten that he had still been locked in the bedroom.

If that was the case, wouldn't it be best if he _did_ somehow push past his utter terror, and begin reciprocating Gabriel's advances? The other option risked Aziraphale being locked away and forgotten about entirely, with Crowley subjected to Gabriel's attention utterly alone, purely as a matter of convenience.

Crowley had already suffered so much for his sake, he had to do _something_.

"It's all right, just a simple lapse, could have happened to anyone," Aziraphale said, forcing a wobbly smile, taking Gabriel's hand and allowing himself to be led out into the living room. "All is forgiven."

Before his shrieking nerves could lock him in place completely, he pressed a hasty kiss to Gabriel's cheek and pulled away.

Gabriel's face lit up with a delighted grin.

Aziraphale felt a rush of relief, which then triggered a wave of shame. It shouldn't have had any positive emotions attached to it at all, given the circumstances, not to mention how much more Crowley had already sacrificed by comparison. No part of this should have felt like a triumph.

"Does this mean you're ready for more now?" Gabriel asked eagerly, giving his hand a squeeze.

"Still working up to it," Aziraphale replied hastily, carefully extricating his hand from Gabriel's grip. "Patience is a virtue, after all."

"Well, I can hardly want to stop you feeling virtuous, now, can I?" Gabriel said with a smile. "Y'know what we can do instead – we can have Crowley sitting between us, and we'll take turns kissing him, you liked that when we did it before, right?"

Crowley moved himself protectively between the two angels. "I don't think–"  


"That sounds… lovely," Aziraphale said over the top of him, clenching his hands tight enough that his nails dug into his palms. He couldn't bear to be sent off to the bedroom again, not so soon after being let out. He would just have to muscle through, and hope that Crowley's presence would be enough to keep him grounded.

"Great! I'll start," Gabriel enthused, taking Crowley's hand and leading him to the sofa, already reaching up with his other hand to cup Crowley's jaw and pull him into a kiss.

Aziraphale hated how practiced the motion was, how much Gabriel must have subjected Crowley to this already. Crowley made a good show of enjoying himself, one hand looped lazily around Gabriel's neck, but there was a tension in his shoulders that belied his true feelings about the entire situation.

The kiss seemed to go on and on and on, and Aziraphale suddenly realised that's because it was – Gabriel wasn't going to relinquish control of the kiss unless Aziraphale insisted upon it.

"I believe I'm due a turn?" he hazarded, hating how hesitant he sounded. Gabriel did pull back, though, allowing Crowley to turn towards Aziraphale.

Crowley slowly nudged their lips together, trying to be gentle with him as much as he could despite the circumstances. Aziraphale did his best to ignore the ozone-bright taste of Gabriel's tongue lingering on Crowley's lips, instead directing his focus to the smoke-and-spice flavour of the demon beneath. One hand settled on Crowley's shoulder, the other on his waist, and Crowley arched up into the touch, both of them forgetting for a moment that they weren't alone.

Their bubble fractured when Gabriel began nosing at the back of Crowley's neck, making a discontent sound as he encountered the collar of his shirt before snapping his fingers.

Aziraphale's hands were suddenly on bare skin, so shocking and abrupt that he and Crowley both froze.

"That's better," Gabriel said approvingly, pressing a kiss to the nape of Crowley's neck. Crowley's lips stilled against Aziraphale's, trembling slightly as Gabriel pressed a multitude of kisses along Crowley's shoulders and spine. Crowley's skin was so startlingly warm under Aziraphale's touch, and he had to fight the urge to let his hands roam. He didn't want the first time he explored Crowley's body to be like this, with Gabriel as an audience.

Never mind that before too long, they might not have a choice. 

Aziraphale felt the sofa dip as Gabriel shifted, and he looked down just in time to see the Archangel's hand slide down Crowley's side and begin to curl around the front of his hip.

Crowley jumped at the touch. "Just– just kissing this time, remember?" he said quickly, voice slightly higher than normal.

Gabriel grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, got a bit carried away."

"Maybe we stop there, then?" Crowley suggested quickly, getting himself back under control. "Wouldn't want you getting too excited, that wouldn't be fair to Aziraphale."

The Archangel let out a regretful sigh. "You've got a good point," he conceded begrudgingly, clicking to resummon Crowley's shirt. He then spread his arms wide as he leant back against the arm of the couch, beckoning Crowley in. "Why don't we do that cuddling thing again, huh? You both like that."

Crowley obligingly scooted closer, back flush to Gabriel's chest and pressed against the side of Gabriel's hip. He propped one leg up against the back of the sofa, bracketing Gabriel's arm, and laced his fingers between Gabriel's, before looking over to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale felt his heart swell anew with love for Crowley. The demon had carefully orchestrated the way he was sitting to minimise the physical contact that Aziraphale would have to have with Gabriel, even at the cost of putting himself in that position instead.

After all, that was pretty much what everything Crowley had done during their captivity so far had been designed to do – to keep Aziraphale safe from Gabriel's touch.

Aziraphale gave him a small, appreciative smile to let him know the sentiment had not gone unnoticed, then settled himself into Crowley's lap, closed his eyes, and did his best to pretend it was just the two of them back in the bookshop, alone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovelies! Sorry for the wait on this chapter, real life got in the way a bit, as it is wont to do. Barring a truly abysmal result in my final assessment, however, I've finished university for good! So happy to be working instead of studying, you have no idea.
> 
> This chapter ended up being longer than anticipated (yes, again), so I split it. Chapter 10 will be when the noncon shows up again (most of chapter 9 is done, so I can say that with confidence this time).

Gabriel still snuck in a few more kisses that Crowley had no real choice but to reciprocate. Aziraphale did his best not to watch. It was an easier task than to try and tune out the sound of lips moving slowly against one another, of the pleased little hums and groans Gabriel insisted on making.

Crowley kept his fingers tangled with Gabriel's, keeping the Archangel's hands from wandering over his body, or from creeping down to where Aziraphale was curled up in Crowley's lap. Aziraphale was indescribably grateful, and made sure not to move an inch from where he was. The way he was currently positioned meant that he was blocking Gabriel's access to Crowley's more intimate areas, even if the Archangel pulled free of Crowley's grip. Simultaneously, it kept Aziraphale far enough away himself that Gabriel couldn't comfortably reach him, either.

Aziraphale had to swallow down a sigh of relief when Gabriel regretfully announced it was time for him to go. Aziraphale shifted gladly to the other side of the sofa as Crowley disentangled himself and joined him, giving Gabriel a glancing kiss to the cheek as he went.

"I don't get another from you?" Gabriel asked Aziraphale.

"Perhaps next time," Aziraphale prevaricated, trying to keep the tremor from his tone. "Patience makes for a sweeter reward, after all."  
  
"I'll hold you to that," Gabriel promised, and disappeared in a flash of lightning.

Tears pricked at Aziraphale's eyes.

_I don't doubt that you will._

"You didn't need to do all that," Crowley murmured.

Aziraphale stared down at his lap, too weary to even sigh in relief now that Gabriel was gone. "I rather think I did, actually. I was only ever going to be able to put off reciprocating his affections for so long before he decided I was more trouble than I was worth." He let out a hollow laugh, entirely devoid of cheer. "It's almost funny, you know," he said. "I spent so long trying to prove that I deserved the love of Heaven. But now, with Gabriel freely expressing love – or, at least, what he's convinced himself is love – I'd much rather do without." He felt his face begin to crumple a bit. "I don't know if I'll be able to stomach giving him more than I already have," he confessed, his body flooding with self-loathing, knowing that Crowley had already given up so much more, for his sake. What right did he have to complain, when Crowley was already being subjected to the things he was fearing? How dare he go to pieces at the mere thought of Gabriel kissing him on the lips, when Crowley had already suffered far worse without complaint?

"We've got to keep him convinced that it's the real thing," Crowley replied, not entirely able to mask the anxiety in his tone. "That's our only way out that doesn't end with me being a puddle of goo and you a pile of ashes. We don't have any other choice but to play along until he lets his guard down enough for us to escape."

Aziraphale still couldn't bear to meet his eyes. "He's going to keep wanting more," he said softly. "He isn't going to stay satisfied long, he's going to take more soon."

"…Yeah, I know," Crowley told him. "We already agreed, remember? I'm going to take charge of things, there."

"But…" Aziraphale took a deep breath, suddenly shaky. "I thought we'd have more time before he wanted to… That perhaps we might have escaped already by the time he wanted to… I don't..." He swallowed thickly, and moved in closer, laying a hand on Crowley's arm, determination in his gaze. "Crowley, I don't want our first time together to be when we're with him. He's going to push for more than just kissing before long, you can't pretend he won't. And he's going to want it from both of us, eventually, regardless of how much you give him." He took a shuddering breath. "He's already taken our first kiss from us, I don't want him taking anything else that we should have been able to have for ourselves."

Shame flashed through Crowley's eyes in the split second before he dropped his head down. "He's already taken more," he whispered.

Aziraphale reached up and gently lifted his chin. "I don't care what you've done with him," he assured, gaze clear and bright, "or anyone else. None of that would ever make me love you less, I promise you. I care about _us_."

"You deserve more than this," Crowley muttered, still not quite able to meet Aziraphale's gaze.

"And so do you," Aziraphale told him. "And once we're free of this place, we _will_ have that, I swear it. I know that for now, it won't be quite how either of us had imagined," he admitted, "but I do mean it, Crowley. The only thing that matters here to me, is you. And I would only ever ask this of you, never demand it. You are always well within your rights to say no if this isn't something you'd like to do."

Crowley took a shaky breath that seemed to rattle through the very core of him. "No, you're right," he said. "I'd much rather we do it now, instead of..." A visible shiver ran through him and he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Instead of after he's done more than he has already."

Aziraphale reached out to give his knee a reassuring squeeze as he shuffled closer, entwining their fingers, feeling the brush of Crowley's skin against his palm.

He'd always admired Crowley's hands, the long, elegant shape of them. They were like an artist's, meant for steady, precise movements. Aziraphale had often wondered whether Crowley had been in one of the creative divisions before his Fall. Throughout his history on Earth, Aziraphale had often watched the scuttle of soft clouds backlit by sunset, or the first bright green shoots unfurling from loamy soil in spring, or the everchanging slow spiral of stars overhead. He'd often wondered whether if he'd looked close enough, he'd find some evidence of Crowley's hand in their design, a thumbprint smeared through paint on a canvas.

Now, they swirled in delicate patterns over the back of Aziraphale's hands, smoothing into the creases in a distracted way that spoke of hesitance, of being too nervous to be the one to take the first step.

Aziraphale might have found the irony amusing, if not for the pang of shame that his own hesitance over the millennia was likely what was making Crowley uncertain now.

"Might I kiss you?" Aziraphale asked gently.

Crowley startled a little, then settled and lifted his gaze to meet Aziraphale's, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You might," he replied, and Aziraphale took the cue, one hand slowly rising to cup Crowley's jaw as they each drew near enough to one another for their lips to meet.

It was tender, as all their kisses had been. There was a heat, now, though, one that they hadn't dared let themselves feel before. Aziraphale could feel it radiating through the thin cotton of Crowley's shirt, pooling in the little space left between them, his own limbs loosening and heartbeat quickening in response. He hadn't always had a heart, physically at least. After reading so many human texts describing the depth of feeling they attributed to the life-sustaining organ, however, Aziraphale hadn't been able to help but grant himself one of his own. It was a decision he often delighted in; there truly was something to be said about having emotions manifest physically the way they did when he had a heart, the pang in his chest making whatever had elicited the response all the more poignant.

Even after all this time, the mere fact of Crowley's closeness made it flutter so fiercely that he was surprised his wings hadn't popped out.

Crowley nibbled cautiously at Aziraphale's bottom lip, far too gentle to risk breaking skin. Aziraphale gasped nonetheless, opening eagerly for the press of Crowley's tongue into his mouth and responding in kind.

"Angel…" Crowley sighed the endearment into his mouth, for that was what it had always been. They both knew what Crowley using that word to refer to him by would mean to any human onlookers. Even if Heaven and Hell had overheard, they would only ever assume that Crowley was being literal – notwithstanding that what Crowley called Aziraphale would have been the least of their worries if their bosses had caught them associating – and wouldn't realise that the term wasn't purely descriptive. Crowley and Aziraphale were the only two that knew it meant both.

"Crowley," Aziraphale groaned back, deepening the kiss, hands tugging Crowley closer and holding him tight. He felt a frisson of delight when Crowley squeezed him back just as firmly, arms winding around Aziraphale's shoulders like the coils of the serpent he was.

Crowley was close enough now that the tell-tale bulge in his trousers grazed against Aziraphale's thigh. Crowley moaned brokenly, rocking himself against the angel's thigh, riding higher and higher. Aziraphale was slower to stir but equally as eager, a modest swell forming at the crux of his trousers by the time Crowley was close enough to roll his hips against it. Crowley's mouth shifted away from Aziraphale's, and instead began tracing kisses up along his jaw. Aziraphale arched his neck, exposing a narrow strip of skin above his collar to Crowley's explorations. Crowley's thigh pressed a little more firmly between Aziraphale's legs, making them spread wider.

Aziraphale gasped and bucked up into the sensation, fingers tightening in the back of Crowley's jacket.

"My dear…" he murmured, and Crowley was instantly alert, pulling back to assess Aziraphale's expression, a concerned furrow pressed into his own brow.

"What is it? We can stop if this isn't what you wanted–"

"It isn't that," Aziraphale assured. "Quite the opposite, in fact. I was merely thinking that, for propriety's sake, we might, ah, progress things to the bedroom?"

He didn't add that he knew the sofa was generally where Gabriel did what he'd done to Crowley, and that, so far, the bedroom had been a place for Aziraphale to be secluded in, the place where Crowley sought for him for comfort once Gabriel had left. For all that it was a prison within a prison, it was also where Crowley held him most fiercely, and given the rather limited options they had, Aziraphale would much rather the bed over the sofa.

Crowley nodded so rapidly that it was something of a shock that his head didn't pop off of his shoulders. "You– yeah, sounds. Good, sounds like a plan."

Aziraphale smiled fondly. "We'll want to collect some supplies from the bathroom, but, yes, I rather thought a change in scenery would be beneficial."

He was met with a blank stare, the blood in Crowley's body clearly diverted to areas that weren't his brain.

"I wouldn't have thought there would be any lubricant stashed in the bedside table," Aziraphale expounded.

"Ah. Fair point," Crowley conceded, then lowered his lashes. "I'll go get myself ready in the bedroom and wait for you, then, shall I?"

  
Aziraphale swallowed. "Yes, I'll join you shortly," he managed, still not quite sure how he'd been bold enough to suggest this in the first place.

He carried himself over to the bathroom as Crowley disappeared into the bedroom behind him, and headed for the sink. He'd seen a collection of tubes and bottles of various descriptions tucked into the cupboard beneath it, earlier on in their captivity, back when Crowley had still been manically searching every nook and cranny for a physical exit from their prison. Aziraphale hadn't exactly seen anything that might be useful to them now, but he hadn't gotten the best look at the collection of creams and liquids before Crowley had frustratedly slammed the cupboard doors shut. Whilst finding an actual lubricant designed for the purpose seemed incredibly unlikely, Aziraphale was hopeful that he'd find a reasonable substitute.

Kneeling down, he opened the cupboard and began to inspect its contents. Gabriel clearly only had a loose grasp on the fact that humans tended to fill such cupboards with medicines and personal care products – the items inside the cupboard spanned across several eras of human medicine and skincare, some of them not being used for such purposes in centuries.

Aziraphale sifted through the face creams and outdated medicines, before finally his hands closed around a tube of pure aloe vera gel. Pleased with his find, he stood, gathered one of the fluffy towels hanging on the rack on the wall, and bustled out of the bathroom.

His paced slowed as he approached the bedroom door, suddenly unsure.

Did Crowley actually want this? Was Aziraphale just being presumptuous, in assuming Crowley wanted to do this as much as he did? Did the demon actually think that this was the only value he had to offer, a mere thing to be bedded, not worthy of the love nestled deep in the heart of him?

Or did Crowley perhaps simply pity Aziraphale, and had wanted to offer him something kinder before Gabriel eventually took it for himself? Was it an expression of compassion, rather than passion?

But no. Aziraphale had tasted Crowley's gentle sighs, had felt how he melted completely at Aziraphale's touch. Even with his angelic abilities severely muted, Aziraphale had been able to sense the veritable waves of love rolling off of Crowley. He hadn't been lying when he'd granted Aziraphale permission to kiss him, and had moved in with none of the tension he'd held when Gabriel had demanded the same of him.

Still, better for Aziraphale to offer himself to Crowley, gift him with some control over the situation when he'd spent so much time already having it taken from him.

It wasn't as if Aziraphale hadn't dreamt of offering such things for centuries, it was the farthest thing from a hardship.

Mind made up, Aziraphale shuffled his burden into one arm, took a steadying breath, and pressed into the room.

He honestly shouldn't have been surprised that, instead of having spread himself alluringly atop the bed or something to that effect, Crowley was instead agonising over the arrangement of pillows, glaring at the bedspread like it had personally offended him.

Crowley startled at his approach, turning with one of the pillows clutched in a stranglehold, like he'd been trying to throttle it into submission.

"That was quick," Crowley said, still choking the pillow. "I didn't…"

"It's all right," Aziraphale assured, moving to the side of the bed and depositing the tube of aloe vera there. He then turned and laid out the towel on the bed with a flourish, taking a seat next to it once it had settled. With a little wiggle, Aziraphale looked at Crowley from under his lashes and smiled. "I want you, my dearest," he said softly, eyes tracing the way Crowley's throat bobbed. "You can have me as you wish, if you wish to have me."


	9. Chapter 9

For all that Crowley hadn't engaged in sexual activities involving other people before all this, he was more than familiar with the art of autoeroticism. He'd experimented with a vast array of toys over the years, as well as with his own hands. More often than he cared to admit, he'd imagined it had been Aziraphale touching him instead. He knew how to most quickly and efficiently open himself up, so he doubted it would be much different with Aziraphale.

Never mind that he didn't _want_ to have to be quick with this. Never mind how often he'd dreamt of languorously stretching Aziraphale open with fingers and tongue, of spending days in bed and giving the angel nothing but pleasure. They didn't have the time for that, not now.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said gently. "I can practically hear you thinking."

"Right. Sorry." He took hold of Aziraphale's proffered hand and allowed himself to be guided to sit on the edge of the bed.

Aziraphale smiled, expression unbearably fond. "No need to apologise, my dear."

"I just…" Crowley ducked his head, not wanting to admit how thoroughly uncharted these waters were for him. "This isn't how I'd have... I don't want this to be disappointing for you."

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale murmured, reaching up to cradle Crowley's face. "Time spent with you could never be a disappointment for me, surely you know that."

Embarrassed, Crowley pressed a kiss to the palm of Aziraphale's hand, futilely trying to hide his reddened cheeks.

"Please, Crowley," he said quietly. "I'd like to share myself with you, if you'd like the same."

"You know that's all I've ever wanted," Crowley whispered, and leant in closer to kiss him.

Their lips met, and the heat between them roared back to life, Crowley's hands immediately restless and starting to roam. Aziraphale kicked off his shoes and climbed further onto the bed, Crowley moving with him like the tide, settling into the space between his thighs.

Aziraphale's tongue swept along Crowley's bottom lip in a question, and Crowley opened eagerly for him. He licked his way into Aziraphale's mouth and felt his head buzz giddily, like he'd be able to get drunk off of the angel's taste alone. Aziraphale cradled his face and kissed him deeply. Crowley was sure that Aziraphale must have been able to feel the flaming rush of blood to his cheeks, radiating heat all the way out to his ears, cascading down his throat, his chest, coating his wildly beating heart.

Crowley's hands seemed to move of their own accord, smoothing down over Aziraphale's shoulders. Aziraphale pulled him closer, his own hands sliding around Crowley's waist, cradling him like he was something precious. He tipped slowly backwards onto the bed, easing Crowley down on top of him. His legs spread a little wider, the growing bulge in his trousers pressing up against Crowley's own.

"D'you want me to–"

"Yes," Aziraphale breathed, barely breaking away from the kiss to speak. "I want you to have me, I want you to have all of me–"

Crowley groaned helplessly against his lips. He reached up to undo Aziraphale's necktie and had a moment of cognitive dissonance when he found that the fabric wasn't shaped into a bow, like his mind had expected. He pushed past the feeling, removing the offending piece of fabric and tossing it over his shoulder to be forgotten, fumbling at the buttons beneath. Aziraphale worked at Crowley's shirt and tie with equal eagerness, both of them groaning when the flurry of movement made them both grind against one another.

He felt himself flag a little when he realised they would need to remove their trousers very soon to avoid leaving noticeable stains.

He hated having to think like that, to have Gabriel intruding on their time together without even actually being there.

Hoping that the thought hadn't occurred to Aziraphale yet, he dropped his hands to Aziraphale's belt, pausing on the buckle to see if Aziraphale was ready, before undoing it with shaking hands. Aziraphale moaned in anticipation against his tongue, and, encouraged, Crowley tugged down his fly, breath catching as his knuckles grazed over the burgeoning swell of the angel's erection. Aziraphale's hips jolted up into the touch, giving an eager little wriggle to help Crowley ease the trousers down over furred thighs, over thick, strong calves, then tossed haphazardly over the end of the bed where they hopefully wouldn't become noticeably crumpled. Aziraphale's hands were steadier on Crowley's belt, feeding the tongue through the buckle and helping him shuck the garment entirely.

Their already-unbuttoned shirts went next, joining the tangle of trousers on the end of the bed, leaving them both in nothing but their underwear.

Crowley flushed, suddenly, absurdly shy. But Aziraphale just smiled understandingly, and slowly slid himself out of his underwear, quite suddenly naked as the day he was created. Crowley couldn't tear his eyes away.

"Might I see you as well?" Aziraphale asked, somehow demure despite his state of undress.

"You– yeah," Crowley mumbled, transfixed by the delicate blush lighting Aziraphale's cheeks, soft and lovely, just like the rest of him. He made no move to finish undressing himself, too enraptured to divert any attention towards the operation of his limbs.

"Would you like me to do it?" Aziraphale ventured after a few moments of inaction.

"Yeah," Crowley breathed, hoping that the twitch of his cock at the thought wasn't too obvious. The gentle smile on Aziraphale's face certainly didn't help Crowley in getting his brain to be less of a useless puddle of goo about the situation, nor did the featherlight press of Aziraphale's lips against his own, or the slow, steady caress of Aziraphale's hands trailing down over his chest. Crowley's breath stuttered beneath Aziraphale's palms as they travelled down, and down, until they finally met Crowley's waistband.

"Are you all right?" Aziraphale asked, whispering the question into Crowley's mouth, filling him with love.

"Yes, terrific, angel, please," Crowley mumbled back, letting out a quiet gasp when Aziraphale's fingers hooked under the waistband and gently drew it down. There was some fairly desperate and incredibly undignified wriggling on Crowley's part, and then he was freed, shuddering and moaning into Aziraphale's mouth, as a manicured hand encircled his cock and gave it a light squeeze. "Oh, fuck," he whimpered, dropping away from the kiss to instead lean his head on Aziraphale's shoulder and mouth at his collarbone. Aziraphale gave him a slow stroke, drawing his thumb over the head of Crowley's cock and smearing through the precum that was beginning to gather there. Crowley's hips swayed into the sensation, and Aziraphale let out a little hum of pleasure, warming Crowley all the way down to his toes as the angel's free hand curled around his waist.

Even already this close to him, Crowley ached with longing, to hold Aziraphale closer still, and protect him from the harm that would eventually come for them both.

He tried to push the knowledge of Gabriel's inevitable return to the back of his mind, and instead directed his attention at sweeping his hands up along Aziraphale's generous thighs, cock hanging thick between them and perking up in interest. Crowley felt his mouth begin to water a bit at the sight.

Then his mind rather brutally reminded him of just how many times he'd been in that position already with Gabriel, jaw aching, a firm hand to the back of his head, holding him down–

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asked, breaking through the fog descending on Crowley's brain, voice tinged with concern. "We can stop if you need to, I promise I won't be upset."

Crowley shook himself. He didn't want to associate what Gabriel had done to him already with the time he was spending with Aziraphale.

It was OK. There were plenty of other things they could do instead.

"''M fine," he assured, offering a smile, fingertips tracing a line along the bottom curve of Aziraphale's stomach. "I want this. Want you."

"You have me," Aziraphale replied softly, cupping the side of Crowley's jaw, drawing a thumb over his cheekbone.

Crowley caressed Aziraphale's wrist, fingers tracing over his pulse, and pressed a kiss to the heel of his palm. Aziraphale smiled, relaxing into the touch, and he reached out across the bed with his free hand, grabbing hold of the tube of aloe vera and passing it to Crowley.

He stared at it for a moment before his brain caught up and reminded him what its purpose was. His hands trembled slightly as he unscrewed the cap, dropping it as it came off, bouncing slightly against the covers.

He squeezed some aloe out onto his fingers, but pressed a little too hard in his nervousness and it spilt over, dripping down onto Aziraphale's stomach. Aziraphale jumped a little at the cool splash of the aloe onto his skin, and Crowley winced in sympathy. "Sorry."

"No matter," Aziraphale assured him. "I've read that it's rather beneficial for the skin."

Crowley couldn't help but chuckle, his fraught nerves somewhat soothed. "That might be the case, but I _did_ have other plans for the stuff."

Aziraphale nodded sagely. "But of course," he said with an irrepressible grin. "We'll just have to attend to my skincare routine some other time, won't we?"

A matching grin tugged at Crowley's lips. "Oh, so _I'm_ going to be involved in your skincare routine, now, am I?" he asked. "Bet you'll have me rubbing all sorts of lotions on you, have you soft and smelling like my own personal garden."

"Mm, that does sound quite delightful," Aziraphale agreed.

"We'll have that, then," Crowley promised. "Later."

Aziraphale's smile softened. "Later," he confirmed. "But for now, you mentioned having other plans…?" He canted his hips hopefully, the delicate pink whorl of his entrance exposed, cock flushed with colour where it lay between his thighs.

"Impatient," Crowley teased fondly, even though he was still keenly aware that they were operating on a limited timeframe. The aloe was warm and slick on his fingers, and he curled one hand around Aziraphale's cock. The skin was velvet-soft, the weight of it warm and heavy in the palm of his hand. Aziraphale let out a quiet sigh of contentment as Crowley gave him the gentlest of squeezes, hand gliding upwards, thumb brushing over the fold where the head of Aziraphale's cock was beginning to emerge from the foreskin. Aziraphale moaned softly and rolled his hips up into Crowley's fist, hardening rapidly under his touch, his eyelids fluttering shut. Sure that he must be on the right track with all of this, Crowley let his other hand wander lower, slicked fingers drawing a steady circle around the tight ring of muscle between his cheeks, over and over, until Aziraphale's thighs began to quake.

Crowley pressed a kiss against the inside of one of Aziraphale's quivering thighs, making him crack his eyes back open to watch what Crowley was doing. Crowley smiled, gave his cock a long stroke, and sank his forefinger into Aziraphale's hole.

He only pressed in to the second knuckle, but it was enough to set Aziraphale's lashes fluttering again, mouth falling open with a soft sound. Crowley maintained unblinking eye contact as he slowly pulsed his finger in and out. He was keenly aware that he couldn't use a miracle to ease things along if needed, and instead made a study of Aziraphale's expression for any signs of discomfort, doing his best to mimic what he himself liked and adjust as necessary for Aziraphale's preferences.

The laser-like attention might not have even been necessary – there was no pain to be found on Aziraphale's face, only eager pleasure, even when Crowley pressed all the way in, even when he added a second finger.

Crowley swiped the fingers of his other hand through the aloe that had dripped onto Aziraphale's stomach earlier, then wrapped his re-slicked fingers around Aziraphale's cock once more. The sound Aziraphale made had Crowley grinding fruitlessly against the bed, and he ached again to wrap his lips around the angel's length instead.

He managed to refrain, instead stroking steadily and adding a third finger to Aziraphale's hole.

Aziraphale bit his lip around a pleased sound, pushing himself back against Crowley's fingers, taking them in like he'd been made for it. "Crowley," he murmured. "I'm ready, please, my dear."

Crowley stilled, swallowed, fingers buried deep. "You sure?"

Aziraphale nodded. "I know I've made you wait for me for so long. Now you have me."

Crowley nodded back vigorously, trying to hide the slight shake to his fingers as he gently withdrew them from Aziraphale's body.

Even without having touched himself, his own cock was hard and on the verge of leaking. He spread some more aloe down his own length before wiping his hand as best he could on the towel beneath them.

Aziraphale reached between them to help guide Crowley into place, making the demon let out a cracked little sound at the touch as he pressed up against Aziraphale's entrance. Aziraphale's hands withdrew to instead fist tightly in the covers, lips parted with desire.

Crowley pushed a little more, then suddenly overcame the resistance of Aziraphale's body and breached him, slowly sinking in.

"Oh, _oh_ , Crowley," Aziraphale moaned, eyes closed, head tipping back in pleasure. His hands rose once more to curl around Crowley's shoulder and his hip, keeping him close. Crowley could have almost wept at the glorious sight. No matter what else happened, he knew he'd always have this, this perfect image of Aziraphale in pure bliss.

"Let me know when you're ready," he murmured, and Aziraphale immediately gave his hip a tug, legs wrapping around Crowley's waist, pulling him closer, pressing him in even deeper.

" _Yes_ ," he replied, breath hot against the shell of Crowley's ear.

"Fuck," Crowley said succinctly, giving an experimental roll of his hips. Aziraphale moaned again and pressed back into the sensation, encouraging Crowley to build up a gentle, rocking rhythm, Aziraphale's arms and legs wrapped securely around him, their mouths seeking one another like ships searching for a port in a storm.

Aziraphale gasped and writhed against him, pushing himself down into Crowley's thrusts. The look on his face was near-rapturous, and utterly spellbinding. Never in all his daydreams would Crowley have thought he would have been able to put such an expression on the angel's face; that Aziraphale would actually surrender his inhibitions as completely as this, revelling so wholeheartedly in Crowley's touch.

Crowley stroked the length of Aziraphale's cock, thick and lovely between his fingers, and pulled back to watch the shifting expressions of Aziraphale's face, drinking in the serene pleasure that almost seemed to make the angel glow from within.

In that moment, the tension of their reality slipped from Crowley's mind completely, so perfect was the visage spread out before him. Crowley had never before felt so content, so adored, so free of self-doubt. "I love you," he murmured, the words spoken like they were a fundamental, universal truth.

"I love you," Aziraphale said with a rush, like he'd forgotten all words in all languages bar those three.

Impossibly, Crowley felt his heart swell further, and laughed with the sheer joy of it, Aziraphale letting out a giggle beneath him in response. They loved one another, and could finally show it, and nothing that happened now would ever be able to change that, as incontrovertible as the laws of gravity– 

There was a muffled sound outside the bedroom door, and they both froze.

It had sounded an awful lot like the cadence with which Gabriel would announce that he'd come home.

Crowley looked down at Aziraphale, stricken. "That can't have been–"

Aziraphale stared back up at him, suddenly terrified, as the door handle turned and the door promptly swung open, leaving them no time whatsoever to try and obfuscate what they'd been up to.

"There you are!" Gabriel said brightly from the doorway, then took in their naked, entwined forms with a slight frown. "You started without me?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be posting this from Melbourne, but alas, the borders have been shut and flights cancelled, and it's looking like I probably won't be able to go until after the vaccine starts rolling out here, just in case another outbreak occurs and I get stuck in quarantine.
> 
> Ah well. 'Tis what it is.
> 
> Hammered out my frustrations a bit with this chapter, hope you all enjoy ;)

_"There you are!" Gabriel said brightly from the doorway, then took in their naked, entwined forms with a slight frown. "You started without me?"_

Of course the one time Gabriel came home early would be now. Crowley cursed the universe at large for inflicting such bad luck on him; it seemed particularly unwise to curse God Herself for his misfortunes at present, given he was being held prisoner in Heaven.

"You're back sooner than expected," Crowley managed, unsticking his throat. Aziraphale had locked up beneath him, it was doubtful he'd be able to muster a defence on their behalf. "We're only half ready," he continued, thinking at lightspeed. "We… we wanted to surprise you when you got home."

"Half ready?" Gabriel asked, stepping into the room, leaving the door open behind him. At least the furrow in his brow now appeared to be out of confusion rather than anger.

Crowley wanted to cry. This was supposed to have been something that he and Aziraphale shared without Gabriel intruding on them, and now Crowley had no option but to invite him to join in.

"Yeah, I've got Aziraphale ready for me, and…" He swallowed, sneaking an apologetic look down to the angel beneath him before returning his focus back to Gabriel. "…I was going to get myself ready for you."

This would be fine. Gabriel still wasn't going to get to touch Aziraphale, Crowley could still protect him, could still act as a buffer for him.

This would be fine.

Gabriel smiled broadly. "That does sound like a nice surprise," he enthused. "I'm happy to see both of you taking the initiative on something like this. I don't see why we can't still do that. I can just watch you getting ready, I'm sure I'll find it informative."

He looked at them both expectantly.

Crowley gave a tight nod, turning back to Aziraphale. He tried to tug the angel closer to the edge of the mattress, to make it easier for himself. Aziraphale, however, gave his head a tiny, frantic shake in the negative, leaning back in a way that made him impossible to shift.

"I can come to you, if that's easier," Gabriel offered.

"No, no, this is fine," Crowley was quick to assure, fumbling for the tube of aloe vera. He had to try three times before he could open the cap with his shaking hands, aloe spilling haphazardly across his fingers.

He looked down at the aloe coating his palm, took an unsteady breath, then reached behind himself, slicked fingers settling against the cleft of his arse.

He could do this. There was no reason he couldn't do this. Hadn't he fingered himself open a thousand times before, almost invariably to the thought of Aziraphale? He just needed to pretend now as he had then – that his own fingers were Aziraphale's instead, that he was even doing it in the first place for Aziraphale's pleasure, rather than Gabriel's.

His fingers slipped lower, index stroking over the tight whorl of his entrance. His breath rattled in his lungs, tinny and panicked, not at all helped by the abject terror on Aziraphale's face below him.

At least Gabriel wouldn't be able to see Aziraphale's face from the angle he was standing at. Even Gabriel would have trouble rationalising away the level of fear in Aziraphale's expression.

Crowley dipped his forefinger into himself, trying to relax enough to allow himself entrance. He arched his back a little more in an attempt to give himself better access, and the motion inadvertently drove his cock a little deeper into Aziraphale. Aziraphale let out a soft little moan, clenching around Crowley's cock, and Crowley's forefinger abruptly slipped past the resistance of his hole. He choked on his next breath, recovered, then shakily began to open himself up, finger pulsing in and out of him in a slow rhythm.

One gradually became two, Gabriel's attentive gaze burning against his back and ruining any fantasy he tried to conjure that didn't involve the Archangel.

Gabriel moved closer in anticipation for soon being able to join. Before long, he'd sat himself at the end of the bed, watching avidly as Crowley's fingers disappeared into himself, over and over. The thrust of his own fingers would, on occasion, accidentally cause him to thrust into Aziraphale. A little hitch of breath was the only sound Aziraphale made in response, and Crowley cast an apologetic look down at him. Aziraphale seemed to gather himself just enough to offer Crowley a feeble, frozen smile, and to squeeze tight at Crowley's shoulders.

Crowley leant down, kissed his ear, and murmured, so quietly that Gabriel couldn't possibly make out the words, "Just close your eyes, angel. Pretend it's just you and me."

Gabriel shifted behind him. "What was that?" he asked curiously.

"Just saying how lovely his eyes are," Crowley replied as he glanced back over his shoulder, thinking quickly. "Compliments are always nice."

Gabriel nodded, accepting the explanation. His eyes raked down Crowley's body. "I do like how slim you are," he offered. "I like the contrast. Although, it does mean I have to be extra careful not to break you."

Crowley did his best not to tense, knowing that Gabriel likely hadn't intended the words to sound threatening.

"Do you want me to take over, there?" Gabriel asked, fingertips grazing Crowley's wrist, making Crowley realise that he'd stopped pumping his fingers into himself.

"Yeah, sure, if you don't mind," Crowley replied, suddenly sick of the idea of having to open himself up for Gabriel. If Gabriel was the one doing it, it might feel less like it was something Crowley was offering, and more like something that was being taken from him against his will.

Crowley pulled his fingers out of himself and waved his lube-covered hand vaguely. "Mind cleaning this off for me?"

He could sense Gabriel's hesitance behind him even as he clicked his fingers. "What's that shiny stuff?"

"Lubricant," Crowley told him, putting his hand down, trying to angle his arm to help shield Aziraphale's face from Gabriel's line of sight. "The, er… y'need it to make sure everything glides smoothly, the whole process is a lot less comfortable without it."

"It looks… squishy," Gabriel said, sounding dubious.

"I promise you'll definitely want lubrication," Crowley replied hastily, not wanting to chance Gabriel getting it into his head that miracling the aloe away entirely would be a good idea. "Definitely want to keep stretching me, too, I didn't do nearly enough on my own yet." He tried to smile but wasn't sure if he'd managed it. "There's a lot of you for me to take, after all."

There was a despairing, broken little sound from Aziraphale, that Crowley could only hope Gabriel hadn't heard. His own throat ached, eyes burning, wishing desperately that he could offer Aziraphale the comfort he needed right now.

"Hm," Gabriel said, then snapped his fingers. Instead of leaving Crowley completely dry, as he'd feared, the aloe's consistency became slicker and warmed his skin, and his hole itself was suddenly fully stretched and prepped. Crowley gasped involuntarily, elbows buckling, and he narrowly avoided bashing foreheads with Aziraphale.

Gabriel put a hand on Crowley's waist. "Oh, sorry, that wasn't too much, was it? I can undo it and do things the… squishier way, I guess, if I have to."

"Nope, all good here," Crowley wheezed. "Already ready, might as well take advantage instead of starting over." He tried to remember how his lungs were supposed to work as he struggled to take a breath. He wished he'd never gotten into the habit of using them in the first place. "Just… just give me a second to adjust, that was… sudden."

"Of course," Gabriel said magnanimously, stroking his hands along Crowley's back in a way that he probably thought was helping. Gabriel paused for a moment, then asked, "Was that long enough?"

"Sure," Crowley bit out, even though it was a lie. No stretch of time would have been long enough to prepare himself mentally for what was about to happen to him, so there was no point in delaying it.

"Perfect," Gabriel said, then promptly miracled his clothes away, lined himself up and began to press in.

It didn't hurt at all – the intent behind Gabriel's miracle hadn't been to cause him any physical pain – but the pressure was still intense, his lungs ceasing to function once more.

Crowley distantly wondered whether he might have actually preferred if it hurt.

" _Oh_ ," Gabriel sighed softly, hands settling on Crowley's hips as he nudged himself inside.

Even with the miracle, Gabriel still felt _huge_. Crowley didn't dare look down, not wanting to know whether there would be a grotesque bulge to the slim lines of his abdomen as Gabriel filled him. He still curled his spine up away from Aziraphale, just in case, not wanting to risk the possibility that he might be able to feel the pressure of Gabriel's cock through Crowley's skin.

The movement shifted Gabriel's cock and Crowley trembled, trying to adjust to the feeling of Gabriel seated inside him.

Then Gabriel kept pressing into him, and Crowley realised he wasn't even all the way in yet. Crowley's stomach would have swooped low in panic had Gabriel not already begun occupying the space inside him, forcing his way into spaces where he didn't belong, where he'd stretched Crowley beyond normal physical capacity to make room for himself instead. Crowley almost choked, managing to smother the sound at the last second, lungs seizing, arms locking in place. He could feel Aziraphale growing impossibly more tense beneath him, and couldn't do anything to comfort him, too focussed on holding himself together and maintaining the charade that he wanted all of this.

"Oh, Crowley," Gabriel groaned behind him, resting his forehead against Crowley's shoulder blade as he settled in deep. "You feel incredible, I can't believe you didn't tell me about this earlier."

Crowley trembled and said nothing, gripping so tightly at the bedsheets that he was faintly worried he'd end up ripping them.

"What do I do next?" Gabriel murmured against the shell of his ear. "Or is it like with your mouth, do you do all the moving?"

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut to blind himself to the shifting horror in Aziraphale's expression. It did nothing to block out the images conjured by his mind, though – of Gabriel demanding Crowley fuck himself on the Archangel's cock, each movement simultaneously forcing him to fuck into Aziraphale as the angel whimpered below him.

"No," he managed, his own traitorous cock still hard as iron where it was buried deep in Aziraphale. "You have to... Y'need to thrust."

He felt Gabriel frown against his throat. "Can you show me? I want to make sure I'm doing it right."

Crowley barely managed to catch the sob that fought to leave his throat in time. "'Course," he whispered, his fears coming to pass seemingly as soon as he thought them. He swallowed hard, trying in vain to clear the fear-induced dryness of his throat. "Can you pull out a bit, so I've got some room to move?"

Gabriel immediately obliged, pulling halfway out. Crowley still felt achingly full, making him bite down on a whine as he slowly forced himself back, stuffing himself to the brim once more. Aziraphale clenched tightly around him as he retreated, seemingly reluctant to release him even partway, and Crowley trembled, knowing that he was going to have to fuck Aziraphale with Gabriel buried in his arse, regardless of how he or Aziraphale felt about it.

One of Aziraphale's hands found his, gripping onto it like a vice, in what Crowley could only hope was intended as a reassuring gesture. Crowley squeezed back, took an unsteady breath, and slowly rocked his hips forward. His cock vanished into Aziraphale's trembling body, simultaneously drawing himself down off of Gabriel's cock, trading one form of pressure for another.

Gradually, he felt himself adjust to the dual sensations, building up a steady rhythm. Aziraphale clutched at him tightly, keeping his face hidden in the crook of Crowley's neck, tears dampening the demon's collarbone. Crowley tried to soothe him as best he could, but there was precious little he could without arousing Gabriel's suspicions. Not to mention the heady cocktail of endorphins that swirled through his brain with every roll of his hips left very little room for rational thought. He could feel Aziraphale's cock steadily flagging against the curve of his stomach, but his own cock was harder than ever, his body rebelling against him in the pursuit of mindless pleasure.

He didn't _want_ it to feel good. It wasn't fair that it felt so good, _it wasn't fair_.

"OK, I think this looks straightforward enough," Gabriel said behind him. "Let me just…" He began to gently thrust as a counterpoint to Crowley's movements, burying himself deep right as Crowley pushed back into him. Crowley let out a startled groan as the motion made the head of Gabriel's cock graze over his prostate, Gabriel groaning in kind as Crowley tightened around him. " _Oh_ ," Gabriel sighed softly, and steadily built his own rhythm. "Oh, I really like _this_ , this is very good."

_Oh, I'm so thrilled that you're enjoying yourself,_ Crowley thought sarcastically _. I'm so glad you're enjoying the sort of thing you've spent six thousand years shaming Aziraphale for._

Except, of course, that Aziraphale was very much not enjoying himself at present. Crowley wrapped his fingers back around Aziraphale's cock, but it lay entirely limp in his hand, even when he began to gently pump it. Honestly, Crowley couldn't blame him – but he didn't want Gabriel to look down and see Aziraphale's cock lying flaccid against his stomach, and this way, at least, he could obscure the fact that Aziraphale was not at all aroused by Gabriel's intrusion into time they'd wanted for themselves.

Aziraphale gave him an anguished look, and, distressed, Crowley attempted to soothingly stroke the angel's cheek with his trembling free hand. "It's OK," he mouthed. Tears welled in Aziraphale's eyes, and Crowley dropped his hand to the mattress by Aziraphale's head to keep himself from overbalancing.

Gabriel proved himself an unfairly quick study, repeatedly striking Crowley's prostate now that he'd found it. The way Crowley stroked Aziraphale's cock was uncoordinated to say the least, but he somehow doubted that it would have made a difference, either way. Aziraphale hid his face against Crowley's chest again, trembling with silent tears.

Try as he might, Crowley couldn't completely keep the ragged moans building in his ribcage contained, and they escaped him one by one. Gabriel, enthused, took hold of him by the hips, using the added leverage to thrust in faster and deeper. Crowley fell forward, elbow going out from under him, his other hand now trapped between Aziraphale's stomach and his own. He could feel the thrust of Gabriel's cock against his knuckles where they rubbed up against his abdomen, and had an awful sense of relief that at least Aziraphale wasn't having to feel it instead.

Crowley lost any ability to maintain control over his rhythm, and Gabriel took over entirely. Tears welled in Crowley's eyes as he realised that by dictating the pace, Gabriel was now effectively using Crowley's body to fuck Aziraphale with. Crowley gasped desperately with each thrust of Gabriel's cock into him, his own corresponding move into Aziraphale, but there was no relief, no reprieve – just the steady press of an angel above and below him.

Despite all his efforts to stave it off, to ignore the fact that it was even happening at all, Crowley could feel his end approaching. His entire focus narrowed in on the hot, tight squeeze of Aziraphale's body around him, the ceaseless press of Gabriel into his own hole. In the moments before the unwanted pleasure overtook him entirely, Crowley had a moment of panicked realisation – might Gabriel not find it strange, if he and Crowley both came, but Aziraphale didn't? Gabriel's breathing was rough in Crowley's ear, indicating he wasn't far off, either, but Aziraphale was still entirely flaccid within the curl of Crowley's fist. There was no foreseeable way that Aziraphale would be getting off anytime soon, which might well spell disaster.

In the moment before he came, Crowley let go of Aziraphale's cock and pulled out, hands fisted tight in the bedsheets above Aziraphale's head. Aziraphale flinched as Crowley's release splattered across his stomach. Crowley's elbows buckled again, and he collapsed down onto Aziraphale's chest, their skin meeting with an undignified squelch, making a mess of both of them but effectively hiding Aziraphale's lack of arousal. Gabriel kept fucking into Crowley's arse, and Aziraphale's arms wrapped tightly around Crowley's shoulders, their faces buried against each other's necks as Gabriel finally lost rhythm, spilling himself deep into Crowley with a satisfied groan.

Gabriel's weight bore down against his back, compressing his lungs and making it near impossible to breathe. Given that his corporation didn't need oxygen to survive, it was probably for the better – the choked sob that wanted to rattle out of him had nowhere to go, leaving him only with thin, hoarse little gasps of air as Gabriel shuddered through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

What felt like an eternity later, Gabriel rolled off of Crowley's back with a groan. A low sound clawed out of Crowley's throat as Gabriel's cock slipped out of him, and Gabriel, misinterpreting the sound as one of mourning loss, peppered Crowley's shoulders with soothing kisses, before flopping down onto the mattress beside him. Crowley's skin prickled with goosebumps at the slow, wet slide of Gabriel's cum out of his arse and down his thigh.

"Wow," Gabriel said, grinning broadly. "That really was something, huh?"

Still struggling to compose himself, Crowley hummed vaguely in the affirmative, pressing a shaky kiss to Aziraphale's forehead. He carefully tipped them both onto their side, placing his body once more between Aziraphale and Gabriel, pre-empting any attempt the Archangel might have made to try and coax Aziraphale out from underneath Crowley. Aziraphale went with the motion and kept his head burrowed against Crowley's chest, shoulders hunched in, trying to make himself as small as possible.

"It really _is_ messy, though," Gabriel said with distaste. He snapped his fingers, cleaning and dressing them all in what he clearly viewed as casual clothing – cashmere sweaters in various shades of purple-hued grey, and business trousers formfitting enough that they didn't require belts.

"Still worth it, I hope?" Crowley managed, finding his voice again.

"Oh, definitely," Gabriel enthused, kissing at the nape of Crowley's neck, then cupping Crowley's jaw with one hand, gently encouraging him to turn towards the Archangel. Crowley turned his head towards the kiss he knew was coming, but kept as much of himself facing Aziraphale as he could, wanting to shield him still. "There you are," Gabriel murmured with a smile, and kissed Crowley slow and deep, tongue grazing teeth.

"Here I am," Crowley agreed, somehow able to keep any bleakness out of his tone.

Gabriel kissed him again, then withdrew. "I'm going to have to get back to work," he sighed, a rueful look on his face. "I only got out of the meeting so early because I agreed to take on some extra paperwork. I really only meant to check in on you both for a little bit, then you offered me such a wonderful gift…" He smiled, stroking Crowley's cheek. "I really do need to get started on it. Can't have you making a liar of me, after all!"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Crowley replied faintly as Gabriel got up and walked out through the still-open door.

Only once he was sure that Gabriel had truly left, the air pressure changing in a way that signified that the Archangel had travelled himself via lightning, did Crowley finally loose the tension coiled around his spine.

He clutched Aziraphale close, buried his face in the angel's curls, and wept until his eyes ran dry.


	11. Chapter 11

Aziraphale didn't breathe.

Normally, he would – he'd gotten into the habit of it long ago, and usually rather enjoyed it. The rush of air within him, his chest expanding to give it space, all the scents of the Earth filling his nose and lungs, made him feel alive, connected to the world rather than merely occupying space within it.

Those scents were currently lost to him, trapped in the sterility of Heaven. Even when he held Crowley close and tried to breathe him in, the familiar smell of burnt spices and stones left to bake in the sun seemed muted somehow. Like it had been laid over with ozone and refrigerated air, like Heaven was laying claim over the totality of him. Gabriel was already dressing him to suit angelic aesthetics, after all, it stood to reason that he'd want to encroach on his other senses, until he was moulded completely into the shape that Gabriel wanted him.

Aziraphale wondered whether his own scent had changed, whether the panting puffs of breath Crowley was currently drawing next to Aziraphale's collarbone tasted the same as they would have back on Earth. He had never quite so keenly been aware of the fact that he was only _wearing_ his corporation – that the flesh and bone of him was not something that had been his from the start. This body had belonged to Heaven, first, issued to him for use in his Earthside duties, but ultimately remaining the property of Heaven. That had never been quite as clear as it was now.

Over the millennia, he'd allowed himself to grow comfortable, to build a physical sense of identity around his corporation. He'd worn the same one since Eden, after all, and barring those few days of incorporeal existence just before the failed Apocalypse, nothing had changed about it since it had been issued to him.

Now, he once again felt like he'd been unceremoniously shunted out of his corporation, watching the current events unfolding as if he was standing beside the bed, rather than being pinned beneath Crowley and Gabriel's combined weight.

He almost welcomed the press of bodies against him, almost wished that the pressure was greater, giving him a further, physical incentive to not breathe.

If there wasn't any air left in his lungs, then he'd have nothing left to sob with. The few devastated sounds he'd made already could have easily given everything away, could have led Gabriel to realise their deception in this most vulnerable of moments. He felt a horrible sense of relief that Gabriel was currently too busy chasing his own pleasure using Crowley's body, and hadn't noticed the noises Aziraphale had been making.

The disgraceful thought made his throat close over in a paroxysm of shame, and he buried his face a little further into the hollow of Crowley's throat. He did his best to ignore the gormless questions that Gabriel kept asking Crowley, kept revealing new fractions of the indignities he'd already subjected the demon to before this.

He tried desperately to convince himself that it was only himself and Crowley, that the way Crowley's hand was curled around his cock was from desire, rather than to hide Aziraphale's complete lack of an erection. It stubbornly refused his silent pleas to respond to Crowley's touch, reminding him yet again that his body ultimately wasn't his to control.

Gabriel continued to pound rhythmically into Crowley, forcing the demon to fuck into Aziraphale, as well, the echo of it reverberating up through Aziraphale's core. There was no sanctity to be found here, not even in the secret corners of his own mind. He belonged to Heaven, and woe betide him if he ever tried to forget it.

He didn't breathe.

He held onto Crowley as tightly as he dared, very much conscious of the fact that the tightening of his limbs seemed to only be one-way. Whenever he clutched Crowley tighter, his body refused to unwind again, and the last thing he wanted to do was make this any more difficult for Crowley than it already was.

Bad enough that Aziraphale was basically useless to him already.

Oh, but he wanted to do more, to _be_ more than an unresponsive pile of meat and bone. But how could he, when even after hurling every obscenity he'd learnt in his six thousand years on Earth at it, his body barely even refused to accept that he was meant to be the one piloting it?

Crowley shifted within his grasp, and it took everything Aziraphale had not to tighten his arms desperately around him, his mind shrieking with the irrational fear that the demon was trying to abandon him.

Instead, Crowley eased himself out of Aziraphale's body, and Aziraphale flinched involuntarily at the hot splatter of Crowley's release against his chest. Crowley collapsed against him almost instantly, Gabriel still pounding away at him from behind. Aziraphale held Crowley as tightly as he dared, one hand cradling the back of the demon's head, as he tried to will his hopes into being that it was almost over.

But it wouldn't really be over, would it? Gabriel was going to try this again at some point, and again, and again, always demanding a little more, chipping away at them both a little more, ceaseless in his quest for something that they couldn't actually give him. And now, whenever he locked Aziraphale up in the bedroom rather than have to deal with his tears, Aziraphale wouldn't be able to think of anything but what the Archangel was doing to them now. He wouldn't be able to so much as look at the bed without being reminded of Gabriel pressing them both down into the mattress. 

Despite all his instincts begging him to beseech God to end this injustice, he refused to allow himself to pray. He didn't know what he'd do with himself if he received no response.

An interminable amount of time later, Gabriel loudly came to his own satisfaction, then draped himself, leaden-limbed and possessive, over Crowley's back.

Crowley kept letting out these awful, choked-off little gasps, like they were being squeezed out of him by the pressure of Gabriel against him, like there was some greater, utterly soul-rending sound trapped within him that was trying to escape. Aziraphale could say nothing, could do nothing but cling to him, and hope that Crowley might find some small measure of comfort from the strength of his embrace.

Even if his strength had otherwise proved useless in the face of Gabriel's conviction in his own righteousness. Even if Aziraphale currently felt so powerless and small that it wouldn't take much for him to stop existing.

Another eternity passed, and Gabriel eased himself out of Crowley, settling down onto the bed beside them. The sound trapped in Crowley's chest broke free, even as he suppressed it the best he could, trembling within the circle of Aziraphale's arms. Gabriel leant over and smattered kisses along Crowley's shoulders, several landing on Aziraphale's forearms and the backs of his hands. At this point, Aziraphale felt too numb to even react, which was honestly probably for the best. He didn't know if he could scramble together the wherewithal to speak, let alone formulate a plausible explanation, if he jerked away from Gabriel's touch like he wanted to.

He didn't breathe.

Gabriel said something that Aziraphale couldn't parse, mind refusing to interpret the sound into something comprehensible. He felt Crowley's lips trembling as they pressed a kiss against his forehead. He tried to focus on it, let it ground him, let the world make sense again instead of feeling like it was slipping away from him at the edges.

Crowley tipped them both onto their side, once again creating a physical barrier between Aziraphale and Gabriel. Aziraphale curled in closer to the naked press of Crowley's body despite the sticky discomfort of it, needing something to hold onto, to stop the stomach-churning sensation of his entire existence crumbling out from under him.

It was almost a relief to feel the flash of a miracle, to be cleaned and clothed once more, if not for the fact that it was emblematic of Gabriel restaking his claim over them both.

Gabriel left, the air faintly crackling with ozone as he departed, and finally, _finally_ , Aziraphale could breathe. Shuddering, ragged gulps of air entered his lungs, his face buried deeply enough into Crowley's trembling chest that the demon's scent, muted as it still was, was all he could smell, nothing of the aggressive sterility of Heaven pervading his senses. He tried to shift, to draw Crowley more securely into the circle of his arms, offer him the comfort Aziraphale had been far too petrified earlier to give.

But Crowley just clung to him harder, his own shaky exhalations ruffling Aziraphale's curls as he kept the angel clasped to his chest.

Aziraphale felt his scalp grow damp, and only then realised that Crowley was silently sobbing into his hair. Somehow feeling even more helpless than before, Aziraphale did his best to trace soothing lines over Crowley's shoulders, hoping desperately that it would feel to Crowley that the sensation was overwriting Gabriel's touch, rather than reminding him of it.

Crowley pressed another trembling kiss to the crown of Aziraphale's head, and Aziraphale cautiously read it as a confirmation of his hope, the tremors rippling through the demon's body abating with an agonising slowness.

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale said quietly once he was reasonably certain that Crowley would be able to manage a response, if he wanted to give one. He was well aware that Crowley was under no obligation to accept his feeble apology, or even acknowledge it.

"'M sorry, too," Crowley mumbled, still holding him, even as the trembling finally ceased. "I know that you wanted– that we _both_ wanted– well." His voice grew thick. "Would've been nice if we could've just had this _one_ thing, without Gabriel barging in on it."

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale murmured, squeezing him tightly in response. Crowley let out a ragged sigh and pressed yet another kiss to his forehead. "Of course, that, believe me, but that… that wasn't what I was apologising for."

Crowley stirred against him, pulling back enough so that he could give Aziraphale a puzzled look. "….What _are_ you apologising for, then?"

Aziraphale sat up, drawing himself away, arms hugged tight around himself. "You were–" He swallowed, tears already clogging his throat again. "And I didn't–"

"Hey, hey, none of that, now," Crowley replied instantly, sitting up and resting a concerned hand on Aziraphale's shoulder. "We agreed, remember? It's not your fault that this is harder for you to do than it is for me."

"But I should do more," Aziraphale whispered. "I should be able to do more, you're doing so much of this by yourself and it isn't fair–"

"Aziraphale, listen," Crowley urged, gathering Aziraphale's hands in his own. "Listen to me, all right?" His eyes blazed with intensity. "You need to keep going as slow with him as he'll let you. You've got to remember, he's only even doing this because he's convinced that if we fall in love with him, he'll become immune to hellfire. Each time we give him something, and it doesn't work, he's going to want a little more. If you try and jump in and try to do things, too, he's just going to ask for more, sooner."

"It still isn't fair, surely there's _something_ …"

Crowley grimaced, seemingly reluctant to say whatever words were forming on his tongue. "Angel…" he said as gently as he could. "You're not… you don't… _react_ the same way I do to what Gabriel's doing. I know it's not at all your fault, but… you realise what would happen, if you locked up on him the way you just did?"

Tears sprang to Aziraphale's eyes and immediately spilt over, Crowley's visage blurring into a smear of red and gold and cream.

"It's all right, angel," Crowley said tenderly, wiping at Aziraphale's cheeks.

"It _isn't_ ," Aziraphale sniffled.

"…No, it isn't, is it?" Crowley paused a moment, then stroked Aziraphale's cheek one more time before dropping his hands. "Look, there isn't a whole lot else we can do about the situation, not until he trusts us enough to give us a bit more leeway on things."

"And in the meantime?"

Crowley shrugged a little helplessly. "Keep ourselves entertained somehow, I suppose."  
  
Aziraphale laughed wetly. "With what? This house is little more than a cardboard cut-out, there is precious little entertainment value to be found here." He felt himself falter for a moment. "Oh, how I miss my books," he whispered, summoning a wan smile. "Isn't that silly?"

"Of course it's not silly," Crowley told him. "The bookshop's your home, of course you miss it."

"All my lovely first editions," Aziraphale agreed, despondent. "My collection of regency snuff boxes. The wine cabinet. You know, I had a lovely '38 Chateau Latour saved for you and I, for a special occasion, and now we might never–" He cut himself abruptly, choking on his words.

"We will," Crowley promised, taking one of Aziraphale's hands and squeezing. "I swear to you, both of us are going to get out of here, all right? We've just got to play the long game."

"I know," Aziraphale sighed, scrubbing the heel of his palm against his eyes.

"Tell you what," Crowley said after a beat of silence, getting to his feet. "I'm sure you've got loads of poems memorised. Why don't you recite a couple for me, pass the time a bit? I know you like reading them out to me, normally, but I can't imagine it'd be that much different an experience without a book." He scratched the back of his neck with one hand, embarrassed, even as he offered the other to Aziraphale. "I've missed it a bit, actually, if I'm being honest."

Aziraphale looked up at him shyly, taking his hand and standing, allowing Crowley to lead him out of the room. "You know, I always rather thought you were merely tolerating it when I read to you aloud, indulging me by being my audience. I hadn't realised…"  
  
Despite everything, Crowley blushed. "You've got a nice cadence, all right? Melodious tone of voice, all that." He flushed a little harder. "Shut up."

Something close to an actual laugh huffed over Aziraphale's lips. "Is that a no to the poetry, then?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Get on with it," he mock-growled, flinging himself down onto the couch with his arms folded. When Aziraphale took a seat to join him, however, it took barely any time before Crowley had shimmied down from his seated position, instead laying his head against Aziraphale's thigh, an echo of the night before that fateful day, now months past, before their entire existence had been upended. Crowley looked almost as at ease with him now as he had then, the crook of his neck moulded against Aziraphale's thigh like it had been made for it.

A smile quirked at Aziraphale's lips, small but genuine. Truth be told, he'd long had a collection of poems memorised that he'd hoped one day to share with Crowley, but had had to keep close to his chest, lest he reveal too much of his true feelings.

But Crowley knew now. There was nothing to be lost in sharing those long-treasured words now, only gained.

He stroked a thumb hesitantly across Crowley's cheek, and, when Crowley shifted up into the touch with a smile, played gently with the demon's hair as he began to speak.

"Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem is Song to Celia, by Ben Jonson.


	12. Chapter 12

Hours after a human would have lost their voice, Aziraphale faltered mid-recitation of a poem. A split second later, he felt the air shimmer and hum, presaging Gabriel's return. His words abandoned him completely. Crowley's hand slipped into his and squeezed, a warm, steady weight that kept him anchored.

Gabriel blinked into view, thousand-megawatt smile at the ready. "I'm home!" he proclaimed, as he always did. Dimly, Aziraphale wondered whether Gabriel so enthusiastically declared his presence because it had been so very long since he'd actually been tasked by God to announce anything.

"Welcome back," Aziraphale said, keeping most of the tremor from his voice as Crowley's fingers tightened reassuringly around his own.

He knew well that Crowley had been right the day before – that the way Aziraphale had completely locked up yesterday made him a liability whenever Gabriel decided to get amorous, which seemed to be more and more frequently. It had been more than a fortnight, now, since Gabriel had come to their gilded cage and left again without first exacting his satisfaction on Crowley's body. And, if the things Gabriel had said the day before were any indication, the Archangel had a whole new bag of tricks, now, that he was eager to delve into at Crowley's expense.

It was inevitable that Gabriel was going to demand more from Aziraphale too, though, sooner or later. If he wasn't able to somehow force himself to respond, at least enough that Gabriel wouldn't realise that Aziraphale was actively terrified of him, then it would all unravel.

At least Gabriel had never not known Aziraphale to be nervous around him, he thought bleakly. Having that as a baseline certainly didn't hurt things.

But still...

He'd _have_ to be able to build up to doing more eventually. There was a limit to Gabriel's patience with him. Perhaps he'd be able to manage something as small as a kiss on the lips? He'd screwed up the fortitude to offer Gabriel a kiss on cheek once or twice as he headed off to attend to his duties, and he hadn't completely gone to pieces over that, surely he could escalate a _little_ further than that by now? If he could only ease into it, have some sort of assurance that it wouldn't go any further than what he could manage, then maybe it wouldn't–

Gabriel looked down at where Crowley was still lounging with his head in Aziraphale's lap, and somehow managed to smile even brighter. "Were you both planning on getting another surprise ready for me?"

"Sorry, no," Crowley said, immediately sitting up as close to ramrod straight as he ever got, but thankfully still keeping hold of Aziraphale's hand.

"Oh," Gabriel said, sounding disappointed. "Are you sure? I was sort of hoping we'd be able to do something like that again soon, I really enjoyed it."

"I think Aziraphale might still be a little worn out from last time," Crowley said, obviously feeling Aziraphale trying very hard – and still largely failing – to not tense up beside him. "Isn't that right, angel?"

"Yes," Aziraphale said shakily, forcing himself to not cower completely. "But I… I think I should be able manage something… smaller, at present."

"Aziraphale–" Crowley said warningly, but Gabriel had already lit up again, crossing over to the couch and taking a seat next to the other angel. His weight sank into the cushions and Aziraphale involuntarily spilt into him, hand splayed against Gabriel's chest to catch himself.

Before he could pull away, Gabriel overlaid his hand atop Aziraphale's, allowing him to feel the fact that Gabriel hadn't bothered to equip his corporation with a functional heart.

"Something smaller, huh?" Gabriel asked, face startlingly close to Aziraphale's. "I suppose it has been baby steps with you. I'd hoped you'd be OK with picking up the pace a little more, after we all already shared a bed together, but…" He smiled encouragingly. "You and I also haven't kissed properly yet, we should probably start there, anyway."  
  
Before Aziraphale had the chance to react, to steel himself for what was coming, Gabriel had already cupped both sides of his jaw and drawn him into a kiss. He let out a startled noise, and Gabriel immediately took advantage of the parting of his lips and pressed his tongue into Aziraphale's mouth.

Aziraphale didn't so much lock up this time as go limp, his body still just as unresponsive to his silent pleas to _do something_ , to have some sort of response rather than just allowing Gabriel to delve deeper and deeper into him. But every time he could almost feel himself adjust, for the possibility of a response to even introduce itself, Gabriel pressed in more intensely, sending Aziraphale's thoughts spiralling and forcing him to build back up from the bottom.

He couldn't taste anything but Heaven, could barely even feel the grip Crowley still had on his hand. Squeezing back in reassurance was far beyond him. There was just Gabriel, pressing in and in, searching for something that he wasn't going to find because it didn't _exist_. And what would happen once the Archangel realised that? Once Aziraphale and Crowley had outlived their usefulness, he was hardly going to just let them be on their merry way, with no other repercussions. Even if they did eventually escape, Aziraphale could see no way that Gabriel wouldn't hunt them down again. He wouldn't be able to stand the bruise to his ego.

This had been a bad idea. It had been a _catastrophically_ bad idea, what was he _thinking_? Crowley was right. He should have listened, he could feel himself careening towards the point of everything going wrong, and when it inevitably did he would only have himself to blame–

"Let us have a go too, huh, Gabriel?" Crowley said, hand sliding across Aziraphale's chest and gently turning him. Aziraphale gladly allowed himself to be moved. Gabriel was more reluctant to release him, which Aziraphale couldn't quite understand given his own lack of responsiveness – or had Gabriel been enjoying it _because_ of the total lack of resistance, how it established Gabriel as more dominant, more powerful?

Crowley brushed an errant curl away from Aziraphale's forehead, serpentine eyes enquiring. "All right, angel?" he murmured, shifting closer in increments as his hand curved just below Aziraphale's jawline.

And it wasn't, really, but the alternative was far worse.

Aziraphale eked out a tight nod, and Crowley slowly closed the distance between them.

At first, Aziraphale could still only taste Heaven. A shuddering sound left him, tears stinging at his eyes. Then the flavour of Crowley's kiss slowly established itself, muted as it still was, and Aziraphale felt himself relax enough to begin to kiss him back.

Crowley smiled encouragingly against his lips and pressed him up against Gabriel's chest, hands resting on the Archangel's biceps. Aziraphale had a moment of sheer terror where he thought Crowley had misread him somehow, but quickly realised that this, like everything Crowley did, was to protect him. After all, Gabriel wouldn't be able to undress him and kiss along his shoulders if they were made inaccessible to him.

But cutting off avenues for Gabriel to access Aziraphale's body only seemed to make him impatient. Before long, Gabriel was shifting in place, reaching around Aziraphale's head to cradle Crowley's jaw instead, drawing the demon away from Aziraphale's mouth and towards his own. Aziraphale was left sandwiched between them, which, whilst not exactly _ideal_ , at least meant nothing was being demanded of him.

Gabriel shifted again, pressing forward. The movement jostled Aziraphale in turn, and his hand shot out to keep himself from tipping over.

As he moved, Aziraphale's hand brushed up against the now-obvious tent growing at the front of Gabriel's trousers.

"Oh!" Aziraphale said, almost too startled to even begin processing, instead just jerking his hand away.

"It's OK," Gabriel soothed, voice gravelly. He took hold of Aziraphale's hand and pressed it against the growing swell at the front of his trousers once more, and Aziraphale felt himself freeze in place, his stomach dropping out from under itself.

_No, no, please, no, I can't–_

"Does this mean you changed your mind?" Gabriel murmured against the shell of his ear, rocking up against Aziraphale's palm, his own hand still circled around Aziraphale's wrist, keeping him trapped.

"N–" Aziraphale tried, but his lips refused to move, his entire _body_ refused to move, he needed to do more than this, he couldn't let Crowley–

"I think that'll be enough for Aziraphale," Crowley said, voice cutting through the fog descending over Aziraphale's mind. "Why don't we let him go off to the bedroom now, and you and I keep going?"

Aziraphale nodded jerkily, jolting upright like a marionette on a broken string, before realising that Gabriel had yet to let go of his wrist, or even respond at all. Crowley was quick to slide his hand up the inside of Gabriel's thigh, fingers slipping beneath Aziraphale's palm and nudging him out of the way.

Gabriel let out a soft groan and finally relinquished his grip on Aziraphale. It took everything Aziraphale had to not just snatch his hand away for fear of Gabriel deciding that he was going to push the issue.

"Guess this works too," Gabriel sighed, eyes drifting shut, rolling his hips up into the pressure of Crowley's hand.

In what had become a well-worn, shameful pattern, Aziraphale made a faltering retreat to the bedroom, the sound of shifting fabric and soft murmurs at his back.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Crowley went through the motions. He stroked Gabriel through his trousers until the Archangel got impatient and vanished them, leaving Crowley to shimmy down the sofa and wrap his lips around Gabriel's cock, negating any expectation that he would need to talk for the next little while. Gabriel's hand wound into his hair, and Crowley moved easily with the push and pull of it, trying to minimise the strength with which Gabriel could tug at his scalp.

He was thrown for a loop briefly when Gabriel dismissed Crowley's clothing with a lazy snap of his fingers, the lavender of his eyes dark with lust as they trailed over Crowley's now-bare back and arse. Gabriel undid his tie and yanked it free, tossing it off to the side before working the buttons of his shirt loose. His chest now bared, he settled more comfortably into the sofa, hand returning to grip at Crowley's hair and pulling it taut, pushing him down.

The tip of Crowley's cock, already wet with precum, slid freely against the leather of the couch, making his hips shudder as he swallowed Gabriel all the way down.

"Oh, Crowley," Gabriel groaned. "I love how you do that. You were right, you're very talented at this."

Crowley didn't make a sound, just sucked and swirled his tongue in a way he knew Gabriel liked.

He hated that that was something that he knew. Hated that he was becoming an expert in how to bring Gabriel pleasure, that the longer this all went on, the more benefit Gabriel got out of it.

But most of all, he hated the way Gabriel's praise made his own cock twitch.

Gabriel eventually lost his composure, groaning aloud as he held Crowley flush against him, spilling down the back of his throat. Crowley dutifully swallowed, and Gabriel shuddered beneath him with another groan. Once he'd recovered enough, Gabriel drew Crowley up into his lap, and Crowley knew better than to resist. Gabriel made a pleased sound as he wrapped a hand around Crowley's fully erect cock.

"You liked that too, huh?" Gabriel murmured, giving him a slow stroke. His thumb rolled pensively against the junction between Crowley's cock and balls. "Do you always wear this one?"

It figured that Gabriel would be prudish about terminology, even with Crowley's cock literally in the palm of his hand. Crowley resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Pretty much, yeah," he lied. He'd enjoyed all manner of genital configurations throughout his life, including some decidedly nonhuman options, but he had a sinking feeling he knew where Gabriel was going with this, and was not at all here for it.

Just as he'd suspected, Gabriel's next question was, "Would you like to try the other one?"

Crowley bit back his automatic response that there was far more than one other option, and that Gabriel needed to be more specific. There was no real benefit to be had from disabusing Gabriel of his archaic notions as to the value of sex, after all, or from giving him even more ideas to play with. Instead, Crowley shook his head. "Nah, 'm good. I prefer this one."

A lie, again; Crowley's personal preferences changed as often as the wind, but the prospect of Gabriel's power reaching in and reshaping his corporation, of finding a new way to violate Crowley's body and autonomy simultaneously, was something he couldn't quite bring himself to stomach.

"Oh," Gabriel said, not hiding his disappointment. Crowley said nothing. If Gabriel thought he could guilt trip Crowley into this, then he had another thing coming.

If he decided to actually start getting upset about it, however... then Crowley might not have much of a choice.

"Well," Gabriel said eventually, giving Crowley another long stroke. "There's still fun to be had with this one, I guess."

Crowley did his best not to buck up into Gabriel's touch, but wasn't particularly successful. "Exactly," he replied, gasping a little as Gabriel encircled him more firmly, pumping his fist over Crowley's cock.

He tried to keep his weight off Gabriel, as he usually did, not wanting to reignite Gabriel's own desires. But Gabriel evidently had other plans, his free hand gripping firmly at Crowley's hip, keeping their bodies flush against one another. Before long, Crowley could feel Gabriel already stirring back to attention beneath him, rolling his hips up against Crowley's arse in a slow grind.

His breath hitched, and Gabriel pressed his lips to the side of Crowley's throat, gently biting and sucking at the skin in a way that Crowley feared would leave marks. Wasn't it enough that the press of Gabriel's hands already felt like it was branding him? Was it really necessary to have visual evidence of the control the Archangel currently had over his life?

And bless it all, why did it have to feel _good_? Why did Crowley automatically arch his neck to give Gabriel better access, and only realise what he was doing after it was too late for him to stop himself?

Gabriel squeezed his hip and rocked up against the cleft of his arse again. His cock slipped between the spare curves of Crowley's cheeks, hard and velvet-soft as he gently thrust between them. Crowley's hands shot down to grab at the sides of Gabriel's thighs, but instead of pushing away from the Archangel like he wanted to, Crowley pulled himself harder against Gabriel, making them both groan. Crowley closed his eyes to the feeling of Gabriel's teeth scraping the curve of his shoulder.

"Oh, Crowley," Gabriel moaned, rocking up against him again. "You always feel so incredible, I love how your body feels." His hand strayed briefly from Crowley's hip, tracing up along his ribs with a featherlight touch, goosebumps springing up in its wake before returning. He gripped Crowley a little tighter, pulling him down even more firmly. The head of Gabriel's cock, wet with precum, grazed briefly against Crowley's hole, making his breath stutter in his throat. Gabriel gave Crowley's cock a squeeze, and repeated the motion, catching briefly on the tight whorl of Crowley's rim before glancing off. "I don't want to wait," Gabriel murmured against Crowley's shoulder. "Is that OK?"

Crowley could only nod, knowing at least that would mean it would be over quicker. Without hesitation, Gabriel snapped his fingers and Crowley was instantly stretched and prepped, allowing the tip of Gabriel's cock to easily slide inside him.

Gabriel held himself there for a moment, and it took a concerted effort on Crowley's part to not just shove himself down, impatient to have it over with already.

"I want to see your face when it happens," Gabriel decided, lifting Crowley out of his lap and clambering to his knees, hands insistent as they coaxed Crowley down onto his back. "I haven't gotten to see that yet, I want to see what you look like when I take you."

Gabriel's fingers grazed the side of Crowley's sack, then drifted down his thighs, easing between his knees and prying them apart. "There you are, gorgeous," he said, an appreciative smile curving his lips as he settled one hand in the bend of Crowley's knee. The other slid up the length of his own cock, ensuring it was adequately slicked before he pressed it against Crowley's miracle-loosened rim.

Then he was pressing _in_ , and in, shoving out all the air in Crowley's body with a ragged gasp. Helpless, Crowley's eyes fluttered shut, head twisting to the side, attempting to hide his face against the seat of the sofa.

There was the flash of another miracle, and Gabriel's now-slick-free hand curled around Crowley's jaw, gently but firmly making him look at the Archangel. "I said I wanted to watch you, Crowley," he reminded softly, sinking in another inch. Crowley could feel the sickening pleasure of it contorting his expression, couldn't help but moan as he nodded, far beyond giving an intelligible verbal response. He let his lids flicker shut once more, given that Gabriel hadn't demanded that Crowley actually watch him in return.

Gabriel pressed in ever deeper, and Crowley's mouth fell open around another moan. He didn't turn his face towards Gabriel's hand, and the Archangel seemed to take that as a sign that Crowley wouldn't try to hide from him again. His hand moved away from Crowley's cheek, and instead slipped into the crook of his other knee, pressing both his legs further back and allowing Gabriel to sink all the way into him.

A low groan punched itself out of Crowley's throat. Gabriel responded in kind, then surged down towards him, leaving him all but folded in half as Gabriel's mouth swallowed the sounds coming out of him. Gabriel's hands abandoned Crowley's legs, the press of his torso enough to keep Crowley's legs spread for him, and instead moved down to support his own weight as he began to slowly fuck Crowley into the sofa.

Crowley scrambled to draw breath each time Gabriel pulled back, only for it to be shoved back out as a gasp when Gabriel filled him again. His arms rose, curling around Gabriel's shoulders and holding him close, in a bid to limit the forcefulness of his thrusts. Gabriel's mouth still moved insistently against his own, and Crowley let him, knowing that the alternative was listening to the Archangel praise his body. Somehow, it seemed a little less egregious if Crowley found himself stimulated by Gabriel's touch, rather than his words.

Gabriel kept moving into him, inexorable, hitting Crowley's prostate with almost every stroke just by dint of his size, and Crowley whined, feeling himself approaching the edge, ready to topple over and be done with it.

"Hold on for me for a little longer, sweetheart," Gabriel murmured against his lips, reaching between them to cinch his fingers tightly around the base of Crowley's cock. "Can you do that for me?"

Crowley nodded, whimpering, hips shuddering against Gabriel's. The Archangel's other hand curled around his waist, holding him in place, thrusts impossibly deepening. Crowley cried out, head flung back against the couch and tears stinging his eyes as a flood of praise surged from Gabriel's lips.

After what felt like an eternity, Gabriel's pace began to stutter. He let go of Crowley's cock in favour of getting a firmer grip on the demon's hips, and Crowley was instantly gone, painting white stripes across his own chest. He bit his lip hard enough that he tasted iron in a bid to smother his own moan of satisfaction.

Gabriel kept driving into him through his orgasm, until finally he tipped over the edge, too, groaning loud enough for the two of them as he spilt hot and bright into Crowley's arse. His arms gave out and he groaned again, broad chest bearing down against Crowley as sweat and cum pooled between them.

"I really do like that one," Gabriel sighed happily into his ear, miracling away the mess but not moving, cock still buried deep in Crowley. "I want to do that one a _lot_ more."

Crowley kept his arms wound around Gabriel's shoulders, eyes stinging again with the certainty that Gabriel was going to get what he wanted.


	13. Chapter 13

"Angel?"

There was a hesitant knock on the door, several minutes after the subtle atmospheric shift that indicated Gabriel had left.

Aziraphale, curled up in the space between the far side of the bed and the wall, didn't answer, just pressed himself closer to the bedframe. Tear tracks stained his cheeks, eyes red and puffy from weeping, and he hugged his legs tightly to his chest, keeping his eyes downcast as the door slowly opened. Crowley called out his name again, gently assuring that Gabriel was gone.

He wanted to answer, he really did. It wasn't fair to Crowley to greet him with silence, on top of whatever fresh atrocity Gabriel had just put him through. Couldn't Aziraphale buck up, put on a brave face, and start offering Crowley comfort, rather than the other way around? Where was his stiff upper lip, his steadfast reassurances that this would all work out just fine if they kept their heads down?

But his mouth felt like a desert, parched and starved, any words he might have spoken wilted and died on his tongue.

The sound of soft footfalls edged closer and closer, followed by a soft sigh as Crowley found him curled up in a pathetic little ball.

Crowley eased himself down next to Aziraphale, moving stiffly and not quite able to smother a wince. Aziraphale felt his eyes sting anew with the knowledge that Gabriel had left him with an enduring physical ache, alongside the repeated psychological wounds the demon was no doubt already carrying.

"I'm going to tell him." Aziraphale's voice was thick like quicksand, like the words were nearly trapped and drowning in his throat.

Crowley's response was soft and cautious. "…Tell him what?"

A tear dripped down Aziraphale's cheek, splashing quietly on his tightly clasped hands. "That I don't love him," he whispered. "That I _cannot_ love him." He took an uneven breath and held it. "I'll explain to him that it was because it was love between an angel and a demon that we were granted our immunities, that I'm… surplus to requirements, and he'll– he'll… get rid of me, I suppose, but that just means there wouldn't be any risk anymore of me giving the game away by freezing up the way I keep doing. It would give you the time you needed to gain his trust further, and figure a way out of this mess for yourself. You are so wonderfully brilliant, I have no doubt you'd be able to best him, especially without my presence complicating things, and it would be easier for you to hide, after, if you only had to worry about yourself–" Several more tears fell down over his fingers as he let out a ragged sob. "You would have a far better chance of escaping all this if you didn't have to keep worrying about me, I can't ask you to remain constantly at higher risk for my sake."

"No," Crowley choked out. "No, I'm not– I'm not letting you do that, you're not allowed to just throw yourself away like that for me."

"This isn't something I'm suggesting lightly, Crowley." His voice wobbled as he looked pleadingly at the demon. "But I wouldn't be able to bear being the reason you weren't able to make it out of this mess that _I_ got us into."

"D'you really think I'd feel any differently, if you went and sacrificed yourself like a big noble idiot just so that I could get out?" Crowley retorted fiercely. "I'm leaving here with you, or not at all. That is non-negotiable, so don't even try to continue with this– this bloody martyr complex you've convinced yourself is necessary, because it absolutely isn't."

Aziraphale just crumpled further in on himself. "But you'd have a far better chance of escape this way," he whispered. "Surely one of us making it out is better than neither?"

"Getting out only because I'd lost you in the process would destroy me, angel," Crowley said plainly, and the words landed like a blow to the gut. "It would hurt more than anything Gabriel could possibly think to do to me, so." He hunched his shoulders, looking down at his feet. "You can forget the idea ever even crossed your mind in the first place, because it isn't happening."  
  
"...Crowley, I–"

"No. I mean it, non-negotiable." Crowley's tone was flat and deadly serious. "If you ignore me, and do it anyway, then I'll… I'll…"  
  
A small sound caught in Aziraphale's throat. "I'm sorry," he said, barely audible even to his own ears, as he somehow managed to fold in on himself a little further.

"Angel," Crowley said gently, reaching out and lifting up Aziraphale's chin. Aziraphale's bottom lip wobbled, eyes still downcast. "I know you only suggested that because you wanted to keep me safe, I understand, really. But that isn't how this ends, all right? We can't have come this far, _saved the world_ together, for it to end like that."

Aziraphale sniffed quietly in a bid to stifle his tears. "I don't know that we had altogether much to do with how that all went," he pointed out. "Not through any intentionality on our part, at any rate."

"Maybe not," Crowley conceded, "but, point is." He drew Aziraphale closer to himself, and even though the angel's expression was still troubled, he moved willingly. "We were still together, at the end."

Aziraphale's expression cracked and he looked away again, ashamed. "After I abandoned you," he whispered.

"You came back." Crowley lowered his hands to circle around Aziraphale's instead, brushing away the tears that had fallen there. "That's the important part, all right? Remember that part. You were there when I needed you to be, even when the whole bloody thing seemed hopeless, and then we made it through. Together. Can you remember that, for me?"

Aziraphale nodded, then curled himself in towards Crowley's chest, still trembling, but now wrapping his arms around the demon's midsection like he didn't ever intend on letting go. Crowley held him just as fiercely in return, and they stayed that way for the next few hours, both of them curled up tight in the space between the bed and the wall, offering them the illusion of seclusion and privacy.

Only they didn't have any real privacy left, did they? Any quiet moment they shared could easily be shattered by Gabriel's return, as it had the first time they'd tried to be sexually intimate with one another. Aziraphale was sure he'd be far too terrified of a repeat performance that he wouldn't at all be able to enjoy himself.

As if the mere thought had summoned him, Aziraphale felt the faint static buzz of Gabriel appearing in the next room over. His breath hitched and he scrubbed futilely at the heat welling in his eyes.

Crowley gave him a tight squeeze, then began to pull away.

"You stay here, I'll deal with him," he said.

Aziraphale twisted towards him, moving to rise. "No," he protested. "I won't– I won't say what I was planning to say, I swear to you, but you _know_ I need to start–"

"I'll take this one." Crowley's throat worked, not quite meeting Aziraphale's eyes. "It's– I need a little more time to– I wanted to keep you safe for longer."

An ache settled just below Aziraphale's sternum. "You've done such a marvelous job of it, my dear," he assured, voice a whisper. "You've done everything you can for me, and I promise I'll never forget it."

"One more," Crowley begged, and Aziraphale felt his breath hitch again as he nodded.

Crowley got to his feet, and headed for the door, casting a single look back before stepping through to face whatever Gabriel had in store for him.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

"So, how was your day?" Crowley asked as he entered the living room, trying to make his tone casual.  
  
Gabriel frowned at him. "You know I can't discuss operational matters with you."

Crowley backpedalled immediately. "No, no, not what I meant, promise," he assured, even though there was a possibility such information might have proved quite useful. "I was more asking in a general sense, y'know, how you're doing." He swallowed, stepping in closer and laying a hand on Gabriel's arm, despite his mind screaming at him to flee to safety. There wasn't anywhere safe to flee, after all. "'S what partners do, taking an interest in each other's wellbeing and all that."

The frown faded and Gabriel settled his hand on Crowley's lower back, steering him towards the couch. Crowley went, because he didn't really have much of an option, and when Gabriel sat and tugged on his hand, he obligingly climbed onto the Archangel's lap. A shiver rippled over his skin as Gabriel's hands drifted to his waist, thumbs stroking over the jut of Crowley's hipbones.

"It was a productive day today," Gabriel told him. "We had a lot of good synergy in the meeting, really moved the needle on a lot of things. I'm happy with the progress we're making."

Even that small amount of corporate jargon made Crowley's eyes want to roll out of the back of his head. He wondered whether Gabriel even knew what he was saying, or if he was just spouting off positive-sounding buzzwords. "That's nice," he said inanely, looping his arms over the Archangel's shoulders.

"What about you?" Gabriel asked, nosing under his chin, tipping Crowley's head back and kissing at his throat. "How're you feeling?"  
  


I want you to stop touching me. I want you to let us go.

"Oh, you know me," Crowley replied breezily. "I'm grand."  
  


Gabriel smiled, pleased. "And how's Aziraphale?" 

Crowley hesitated a moment before answering, trying to formulate the most diplomatic response. "He's still taking a bit of a break," he replied cautiously. "You know how he is. Takes him a little while to come 'round on things. You'll just need to give him a bit more time."

"Mm," Gabriel hummed against his neck, sounding discontent. "Any way we could speed that up, do you think?"

Crowley thought back on what Aziraphale had told him a few days prior, about missing his bookshop, and the contents therein. He knew it was hardly going to fix anything, but surely having some books at hand whenever Gabriel decided he needed some time alone would be better, rather than staring blankly at a wall, waiting to be let out?

"He probably misses the bookshop," Crowley suggested. "We could have a scaled-down version up here. Without customers, obviously. Just for Aziraphale." He gave a nonchalant shrug even as his heartrate kicked up, knowing that he might be pushing his luck with his next suggestion. "You could send me down, I'll grab a few things, it wouldn't be any trouble."

A deep furrow formed in Gabriel's brow as he pulled back, fingers tightening around Crowley's waist.

"Or you could nip down instead, that'd work too," Crowley quickly amended at the look on Gabriel's face, cursing himself for pushing too soon. He tried to make his tone flippant and offhand. Like the thought of using the excursion as a tool to further gain Gabriel's trust when he returned as promised hadn't even occurred to him. It wasn't as if he'd actually have tried to escape, anyway, not when it would have meant leaving Aziraphale behind. "Just figured I'd offer, seeing how I know which ones he likes best, but I could give you a list instead."

Gabriel's expression settled into something doubtful rather than outright suspicious, fingers trailing absent patterns along Crowley's thighs. "I don't know, all those material objects? That sounds awfully... human." He said the word like he was describing something stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

"Ah, humans aren't all bad. Sort of the point, isn't it? 'S how Aziraphale and I learnt to love the way we do, at any rate, that has to count for something." He ran his fingers lightly through Gabriel's hair. "Besides, this place already looks pretty human, yeah? Got a fully kitted out bathroom and everything, when none of us even need to use it. What difference would a library make?" Gabriel's expression didn't shift, and Crowley tried a new tack. "You don't even have to take any of the ones from the bookshop, you can just miracle some new ones up for him, save yourself a trip to Earth," he said, also realising that Aziraphale would not appreciate Gabriel rummaging around in the bookshop, especially when he wasn't there.

The Archangel still didn't seem convinced. Crowley swallowed the bile rising in his throat and played his trump card, reaching for one of Gabriel's hands and drawing it down between his legs.

He wished it hadn't come to this so soon. But he was too far in to give up now.

His voice dropped into something lower and smoother, more tempting. "How about this, you give Aziraphale a library, and I'll let you change me to the other default setting, if you like." He rocked his hips meaningfully against Gabriel's palm, knowing that it was something that the Archangel wanted from him, hating that he could feel himself getting hard already. "We can all do nice things for each other."

Just as he'd hoped and feared, Gabriel's pupils dilated and his breath hitched slightly. "You'd do that? For me?" he asked, voice sliding down the octave.

"If you give Aziraphale a library, yeah," Crowley told him, hips stuttering as Gabriel gently began to knead at him. He knew that Gabriel would have kept urging Crowley to acquiesce to his desires and force him to give in eventually. At least this way he'd actually get something out of it. "You want him to be happy here, right?"

"Of course."

"Then I reckon you go ahead and give him a library, it certainly can't _hurt_."

"OK," Gabriel agreed, still rolling his hand over Crowley's crotch. "And you know what would make me happy…?" he ventured, a hopeful look on his face.

Crowley swallowed and nodded. It wouldn't do to upset Gabriel now and have him reconsider the agreement. "Yeah, go ahead," he murmured, forcing a smile. "Said I would, didn't I?"

Gabriel's own smile grew, pressing down with a little more intention. It wasn't enough to cause him pain, or even feel uncomfortable on its own; not that that mattered, because the sensation of his corporation being changed by a will other than his own was such a foreign, invasive experience that Crowley would have rather it have been painful instead.

"There we go," Gabriel told him, fingers gently rubbing over his newly formed cunt through his trousers. Crowley shivered, hands tightening where they'd looped around Gabriel's neck, able to feel Gabriel's already burgeoning erection beginning to swell beneath him.

Better to just get it over with.

Crowley tugged at Gabriel's shoulders, falling back onto the couch and pulling the Archangel on top of him as he went. At least this way, it meant that Gabriel was grinding down onto him rather than the other way around, meant that it was easier to pretend that this was being forced onto him rather than something he'd offered of his own volition.

The growing damp patch in his underwear made the pretence feel tenuous at best.

Gabriel smiled down at him, clearly reading Crowley's actions as eagerness, and lifted a hand to stroke at Crowley's cheek. His lips parted slightly, looking ready to murmur some sweet sentiment that he'd expect Crowley to reciprocate. Crowley knew he didn't have the stomach for it right now – instead, he reached up and grabbed the knot of Gabriel's tie, pulling him down, lips catching the Archangel's before he could speak.

The couch cushions shifted beneath Crowley as Gabriel fell against him with a sound of surprise. Then he pressed down, mouth warm and insistent, solid chest pinning Crowley to the couch, the hardening length of his cock rocking against Crowley's thigh.

Satan, but did Crowley hate the fact that his moan wasn't entirely faked.

Gabriel's mouth meandered away from Crowley's, feathery kisses tracing their way up to his ear and down along his jawline. Crowley tipped his head back so that he wouldn't have to watch, and Gabriel just took it as an invitation for his mouth to trail down further. His lips caught on the pale merino wool he'd donned Crowley in, and he dismissed it with a thought, apparently unwilling to stop touching Crowley for even the mere few seconds it would have taken to remove the garment physically. Crowley's skin prickled for more reasons than one as Gabriel ran a large, warm hand over his bared ribs.

Crowley felt his breath stutter, heart knocking frantically against his ribcage, as Gabriel made his inevitable way downwards. When Gabriel's hand slipped between his thighs once more, only below the waistband this time, Crowley couldn't help the way his hips jumped into the touch.

His trousers vanished much as his jumper had, even the slight protection offered by his underwear disappearing, leaving him entirely naked. Crowley couldn't help but flinch and try futilely to snap his legs shut. All that achieved was to have his thighs clamp against Gabriel's waist, and for Gabriel to still with concern, hand resting against the thatch of rust-red curls between Crowley's thighs.

"Are you all right?"

"Just peachy," Crowley assured, trying to force the tension from his body. "It's just that I haven't worn one of these in a minute, it's a bit more sensitive than I remember."

"It's OK," Gabriel assured. "I'll be gentle."

Crowley wished he wouldn't. That those large hands would squeeze too hard, hold him down against his will. At least that way, Crowley wouldn't have to pretend that he didn't want to shove Gabriel away, wouldn't have to force down his instinctive reaction to flinch at the Archangel's touch. He'd be able to at least put up a fight, futile as the attempt would be, without putting himself and Aziraphale in immediate danger.

Instead, Gabriel's hands eased Crowley's thighs open as he shifted back. When they slid back down again, Crowley took the hint, keeping his legs splayed open and trembling. Gabriel trailed a curious thumb through the wetness gathering at Crowley's entrance, then dragged it up to swirl around his clit, already swollen and begging for attention. Crowley let out a soft whimper and let his head fall back against the couch, squeezing his eyes shut.

Which was why Crowley was completely thrown for a loop when the unmistakable wet heat of a mouth pressed itself gently between his legs.

His eyes flew open, hands shooting out to tangle in Gabriel's hair, holding the Archangel down against his cunt. He blinked, arms locking in shock – not that Gabriel even seemed to notice, licking at his clit like it was a font of nectar – as his conscious mind tried to reconcile what his subconscious had just done. How he'd reached out for the Archangel without even thinking about it, had willingly pulled him down harder against his body. As if he actually wanted this, as if Gabriel being so unexpectedly skilled with his tongue somehow excused the fact that he was holding Crowley and Aziraphale captive, and calling it love.

Apparently, Crowley was every bit the foul and depraved demon that he was sure was whispered about in the halls of Heaven, because he could feel his arousal rising along with his revulsion.

"You like that?" Gabriel murmured, hot breath washing over slicked skin, making Crowley tremble.

"Hgnh," Crowley replied, rather than admitting the shameful truth outright.

Gabriel chuckled. "Why don't you put your legs over my shoulders, champ? Seems like that'll be a bit more comfortable for you."

There wasn't much else Crowley could do but comply. He obediently repositioned himself, Gabriel's hands closing around the tops of his thighs, firmly anchoring him in place.

Keeping him trapped.

It wasn't like there had been anywhere he could run to begin with, anyway.

Gabriel's mouth moved against him with renewed vigour. Crowley couldn't control the soft whimpers catching in his throat. The fingers he still had buried in Gabriel's hair both held the Archangel against him, and kept Crowley from feeling completely untethered, an awful juxtaposition that threatened to make him unravel anyway. Gabriel slowly introduced his fingers into the equation, gently coaxing Crowley open enough to accept three fingers buried to the knuckle.

Before long, Crowley's thighs began to quake, heat and tension coiling low in his abdomen. His spine bowed and flexed, fingers tightening, toes curling. He pressed his head back hard against the couch cushions, twisting his face away, but there was no escape from the inevitable conclusion. The leather of the sofa grew sweat-slick beneath him, his panting breath condensing against the fabric.

The pressure within him built and built, then crashed through him like a dam bursting, making him howl.

He hoped Aziraphale wasn't listening.

Gabriel kept licking at him as he crested over his peak. Crowley's breath went ragged, cries of unwanted pleasure flowing from his lips of their own volition. His orgasm ricocheted through him in waves, leaving him lightheaded and dizzy. He wondered vaguely if he might pass out, found himself hoping he would. At least it would be a small mercy, to surrender to the oblivion of unconsciousness, even if only for a little while.

He only hovered on the precipice, though, not quite tipping over the edge. With the current state of his powers, there wasn't much he could do to nudge himself over, leaving him trapped in the grim reality of the situation.

When Gabriel finally pulled back, he untucked the pocket square in his suit jacket and wiped his face and fingers with it, before dismissing the soiled fabric entirely. "That was fun," he commented. "I could do without the mess, though. I would've thought this one involved less... fluid."

"You kind of need the mess," Crowley managed. "Nowhere near as fun if everything's dry." He felt himself clench a little in fear at the prospect of Gabriel trying to fuck him without any form of lubrication to ease the way.

Gabriel pursed his lips. "Hm, I see your point. And I guess it _is_ still less mess than the other one. Anyway, if you're wet and ready already..." He trailed off hopefully.

Crowley briefly entertained the thought of telling Gabriel that he was feeling too sensitive post-orgasm to offer him pleasure like that. But, undoubtedly, Gabriel would want satisfaction from him some other way, and at present, Crowley didn't think he had the mental energy for anything more than just lying there and taking it.

He flushed and spread his legs a little wider, looking away. "Yeah, sure, go ahead."

With a grin, Gabriel undid his belt and tugged down his fly, before dismissing all his clothing below the waist entirely. His cock hung full and ready between his legs, peeking out obscenely from under the hem of his shirt before he dismissed that, too, towering fully naked and hard over Crowley's vulnerable body.

At least he'd seemed to take Crowley's comments to heart, miracling his hand slick and rubbing it along the length of his cock to ease the slide. He shook the excess off his hand with another miracle, then lined up with Crowley's entrance and slid home with a single, drawn-out thrust.

All the breath left Crowley's body with a sharp gasp. He gulped desperately for air that didn't seem to want to enter his lungs, as if the volume had been displaced by the size of Gabriel's cock. How had he forgotten so soon, just how thoroughly Gabriel could fill him? Had he really expected it to feel any less intense this way? His arms clutched automatically at Gabriel's back, holding him close, but more importantly not allowing him to thrust with any real strength.

Mercifully, Gabriel seemed content for now to give him time to adjust, running fingertips over Crowley's shuddering ribs and only rocking into him with the slightest of motions. When Crowley regained some semblance of a regular breathing pattern, the rolling of Gabriel's hips steadily increased. Before long, he was fucking into Crowley with long, full pumps of his hips, filling Crowley completely at every peak, every part of him overwhelmed and overtaken by the Archangel's presence. It seemed that Gabriel had confused slow for gentle, because he was certainly thrusting far too deep for Crowley's body to comprehend what was happening to it. But, evidently, Gabriel had reshaped him with the expectation that Crowley would be able to accommodate all of him, so accommodate him he did, Gabriel sinking into him to the root over and over. Now well established in his rhythm, Gabriel shifted his weight to balance on one arm, the other drifting down between their bodies to stroke at Crowley's clit once more.

Crowley began to think he might start sobbing with how overwhelmed he was. The knowledge that Gabriel would no doubt believe Crowley was sobbing with ecstasy only brought him closer to the brink. The worst part was, Gabriel wouldn't have been entirely wrong to believe so, and the thought pushed Crowley over the edge. His tears spilt over as another orgasm slammed brutally through him, making him clench down hard on Gabriel's cock as his thighs spasmed with the force of it, the overstimulation sending him reeling.

"Fuck," Crowley wailed, knowing there was every chance Aziraphale could hear him, helpless to stop himself. "Fuck, oh fuck–"

"That good, huh?" Gabriel grinned, panting, predictable and oblivious.

Crowley said nothing, weeping still and clinging to Gabriel's back. The Archangel mercifully only lasted a few more thrusts before losing all rhythm and burying himself deep, weight bearing down, making Crowley shudder as he was filled further.

"Oh, _Crowley_ ," Gabriel groaned, taking Crowley's face in his hands and kissing him deeply. Crowley was helpless before the onslaught, giving way and allowing Gabriel entry, the meagre defences he had left crumbling as Gabriel devoured him, filled him to the brim, overwhelmed him so entirely that there was nothing of himself left.

A mournful sound escaped Crowley without his permission when Gabriel eventually pulled out, the space between his thighs wet and dripping. Gabriel made a displeased face at the sight of all the mess, and cleaned them both with the snap of a miracle.

It just made Crowley feel dirtier than ever.

"Here, let me change you back, I remember you saying you prefer wearing the other one," Gabriel offered. Crowley almost protested, not wanting to endure the violation of Gabriel manipulating his physical form again so soon, especially when he was still so sensitive. But, he quickly realised, it was still a better alternative than having Aziraphale realise exactly what had been done to him. What he'd allowed Gabriel to do. That he'd let Gabriel manipulate his physical form for his own gratification, as if Crowley were little more than a toy to be played with, customisable to the Archangel's preferences. There was every chance that Aziraphale would notice that Crowley wasn't filling out the line of his trousers quite the same way.

Gabriel's palm slid over his tender cunt, and Crowley made a quiet noise in the back of his throat. Gabriel made a soothing sound at him, causing Crowley to flush with humiliation as Gabriel gently coaxed his cock back into existence.

"There we go," Gabriel enthused as Crowley trembled beneath him. He clicked his fingers again, summoning a new set of clothes for the both of them. "I don't know about you, but I _definitely_ liked that, I'd very much like to do it again soon." He shifted back so that he was sitting, pulling Crowley up into his lap as he went. "Would you like that, too?"

Crowley knew that he should bring up the library, make sure that Gabriel was going to hold up his end of the deal. That he hadn't volunteered himself up for nothing.

Instead, all he had the energy for was a meek nod.

"That's what I like to hear," Gabriel said, unperturbed by Crowley's subdued response. "Tell you what, I've got to head back to work soon, but I'll have a little time between meetings to have a think about what you asked, and I'll have something ready to go when I get back, how does that sound?"

Crowley nodded again, trying not to let his relief be too palpable. It was doubtful that Gabriel would have really noticed, either way.

"Great!" Gabriel beamed, leaning down to kiss Crowley deeply. "I'm looking forward to it," he murmured, then slid his hand suggestively down Crowley's side. "And having _this_ again."

Then, with a crackle of ozone, he was gone.

Crowley let his head fall back against the couch, eyes closing with a shaky breath, and allowed a fresh set of tears to trickle down over his temples.


	14. Chapter 14

It was several long, slow minutes after Gabriel's presence had vanished that the door to the bedroom opened.

Aziraphale dabbed quickly under his eyes with the inside of his sleeve, wiping up any remaining tears, and moved forward anxiously, determined that Crowley wouldn't have to find him cowering again.

Crowley clung to the door handle and hovered in the threshold, looking small and ashamed. He didn't meet Aziraphale's eyes.

It was achingly clear that he knew Aziraphale would have heard him crying out in ecstasy as Gabriel wrought unwanted pleasure on his body. That there might be a chance, however small, that Aziraphale would look down on him for it, as if anything about Crowley throwing his body into the firing line for Aziraphale's benefit would ever make him so ungrateful.

"Oh, _Crowley_ ," he murmured softly, opening his arms to Crowley but stopping short of wrapping them around him, always wanting to give Crowley the choice to reject his touch if he didn't want it.

Crowley all but flung himself into the embrace, narrow shoulders up around his ears as he buried himself in Aziraphale's chest.

"You are so very brave," Aziraphale whispered, arms curling around Crowley's back when the demon's cinched in tight around his waist. "That I had an ounce of your courage, my dear, I'm so thankful for all that you've done for me."

"'M not brave," Crowley mumbled. "'M a demon. It's…" His breath shuddered. "It's… easy."

Crowley might have been able to fool himself, but the tremor in his voice told Aziraphale a different story. It spoke of guilt, and shame, and an increasing sense of self-loathing.

"I won't have you selling yourself short," Aziraphale chastised gently. "You've done so very much to protect me; I will never not be grateful for that. You have given me so much, you have _always_ given me so much, and my entire existence has been a far richer experience for having spent it beside you, particularly in these past few years." He pressed his lips chastely to Crowley's forehead, giving his shoulders a reassuring squeeze. He straightened, swallowed, and steeled his spine. "When... when Gabriel comes back, I will kiss him, and if he– if he presses for more..." He swallowed again, mouth terminally dry, a sandstorm roiling in his stomach. "I will give it to him."

Crowley's face was a patchwork of tension, eyes golden and luminous against the bloodless pallor of his skin. "I don't want you to."

Aziraphale took hold of his hands. "I know, dearest," he said softly.

"And I know _you_ don't want to, either," Crowley choked out.

Aziraphale swallowed once more in vain. "No, I don't," he whispered. "But I must, if we're both to survive this."

"You don't have to," Crowley said, a touch desperate. "I can just– I'll keep doing what I've been doing, I'll give him what he wants, and you'll be safe, and– and he won't get to touch you–"

"Crowley," he said, feeling a note of finality entering his tone. "We've both known, for a while now, that Gabriel is going to take what he wants from me before he'll trust us enough to let his guard down. You've done absolutely _everything_ you can to protect me, you must believe that this is in no way some sort of failing on your part. This isn't something you need to suffer through on your own."

Crowley crumpled and buried his face against Aziraphale's chest, shoulders silently shaking.

"I'm so sorry," Aziraphale whispered against Crowley's hair, and held the trembling demon in his arms until they both felt the rippling air pressure change of Gabriel's return.

Crowley pulled away from the embrace, scrubbing at his eyes as he recomposed himself. "All right," he said softly, words trembling and seemingly only half-directed at Aziraphale. "OK. OK."

"It _will_ be all right," Aziraphale insisted, wishing he sounded the least bit confident.

Crowley said nothing further, just headed for the door, leaving Aziraphale to trail behind. Gabriel was waiting for them in the living room. Aziraphale couldn't help but feel like he seemed even more physically imposing than usual.

He smiled expectantly, and obligingly enough, Crowley walked over and gave him a peck on the cheek before pulling away.

Aziraphale held his breath, marched forward, and reached up to cradle the back of Gabriel's neck, pulling him down into a kiss. He'd moved quickly enough that his mind hadn't quite had the chance to catch up with what he was doing, but as Gabriel made a surprised, pleased sound and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale's waist, he froze again, brain coming to a screaming halt.

Gabriel didn't much seem to mind, though, pressing forward into Aziraphale's limp mouth, humming in pleasure when he didn't resist.

Aziraphale could all but feel the waves of distress rolling off Crowley as Gabriel kissed him, which did exactly nothing to ease his own panic, particularly when Gabriel's hands tightened on his waist.

Then, mercifully, Gabriel was pulling away, still holding him but no longer kissing him. Gabriel beamed down at him. "About time, hey, sunshine?" he enthused, then smiled impossibly wider. "Actually, I've got a surprise for you, do you want to see?"

A gnawing pit opened up in Aziraphale's stomach, but he forced himself to nod. Gabriel took his hand, and led him to the other side of the living room. Instead of the blank wall that had been there previously, there was now another door, and Gabriel gestured enthusiastically for him to open it.

Hesitantly, the pit in his stomach yawning wider, Aziraphale obeyed, the door swinging inward as he turned the handle without so much as a creak.

The room was a simple square, with sleek brushed metal shelves stretching from floor to ceiling, filled with books.

It was like the bookshop, only stripped of anything that made it feel like it actually belonged to Aziraphale. Instead, it was clearly a product of Heaven – sharp and clean and coldly beautiful. There was an armchair, but it was a stylistic twin to the sofa in the living room behind them, a far cry from the faded plushness of Aziraphale's own furniture. Each book on the shelf was brand new, not a single mote of dust to be seen, not even the comforting scent of wood and worn paper to soothe him. There was no reassuring chaos of his inscrutable organisational system, everything instead arranged with military precision. There were no hidden nooks or quiet crannies, no memorabilia of a life spent travelling the Earth, nothing that would ever allow Aziraphale to forget that none of this belonged to him.

Aziraphale glanced over at Crowley, who was very carefully not looking at him.

"You're grateful, aren't you, Aziraphale?" Gabriel asked, the weight of his hand on Aziraphale's shoulders making Aziraphale feel rather like Atlas.

He mustered a wobbly smile that he knew didn't come close to reaching his watery eyes. "Yes, of course," he whispered, also knowing that Gabriel wouldn't be able to tell the difference. "T–Thank you so much, Gabriel." He blinked back the tears. "Feels… just like home."

Gabriel grinned. "It should. This _is_ your home, after all."

Aziraphale swallowed. "Yes. So you've said."

The Archangel gestured towards the shelves. "Go on," he said encouragingly. "Pick something out."

Vision blurred, Aziraphale gave a jerky nod and stumbled over to the shelves, choosing a book at random without even reading the spine. He cradled it to his chest, trying to take comfort from the familiar weight and shape, tried to imagine that he was back in the bookshop, about to curl up in his favourite armchair.

He realised he'd taken _Anna Karenina_ from the shelf, and almost started crying.

Gabriel beamed at him. "Great! Let's go do whatever it is you do with that thing, huh?"

–––––––––––––––––

Aziraphale wasn't stupid. He might have been an angel, which tended to give one an expectation of a certain naivety, but he'd also spent six thousand years on Earth. He'd lived amongst humans long enough to know how favours like that worked, to know that Crowley must have offered Gabriel _something_ in order to give Aziraphale a whole library. His mind refused to let the thought go, turning over and over around the myriad possibilities, of what indignities Crowley had subjected himself to for Aziraphale's benefit.

He tried in vain to read his book, to ignore the too-smooth texture of the paper that gave away the fact that it was miracle-made. Despite knowing the words by heart, however, their meaning kept slipping away from him. His eyes swam as he tried to focus on each letter one at a time, but they stubbornly refused to assemble into something cohesive in his head. All he could focus on was the warm bulk of the Archangel beside him, a possessive arm slung around Aziraphale's middle.

He hated this. He hated not being able to concentrate on something he so dearly loved.

His eyes slid over to Crowley, who was staring fixedly ahead, then back to the page before him.

"Are you enjoying your…" Gabriel stumbled as he grasped for the word, face lighting up once he'd found it. "Book?"

Aziraphale froze, not knowing how to answer. He hadn't actually been reading the book, not really, his eyes just running along the same sentence over and over for what had felt like hours, not absorbing a single word. How could he focus, how could he relax and enjoy himself, when he and Crowley were both prisoners here? When Gabriel insisted on running his fingers through Aziraphale's hair like the smaller angel wanted such a display of affection from him? When Aziraphale could feel every inch of Gabriel pressed to his side like a branding iron as the Archangel forced them all to snuggle on the couch, like a horrid mockery of the domesticity Crowley and Aziraphale had once taken for granted?

Still, it was hardly like Gabriel really understood how a book worked, in any case. Aziraphale should be able to muddle his way through a simple lie like that. "It's fine, thank you," he finally forced himself to say.

Gabriel frowned down at him. "Wait, you're supposed to turn the, the pages, right?" The Archangel's frown deepened. "Why haven't you been turning the pages?"

Drat. He felt his breathing pick up speed, hoping that Gabriel didn't notice the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "Quite right, how silly of me," Aziraphale said, his voice high and tremulous even to his own ears, as he quickly flicked the page over. He made a frantic pantomime of avidly reading each line, willing Gabriel to believe him and overlook the slipup. He finished scanning the page he was on and flipped to the next. Too late, he realised that Gabriel might be even more suspicious that he'd finished the page in under a minute when the first had supposedly taken him hours.

Even in his periphery, he could see the Archangel starting to get truly upset, could see Crowley giving him a warning glance from Gabriel's other side. "Why don't you like it?" Gabriel demanded, fists clenching as he turned his gaze to Crowley, the faint scent of ozone filling the room. "You said he'd like it."

Aziraphale tried not to gulp visibly, but it was difficult with the way his throat had gone dry and sticky, the air he didn't need apparently unable to decide whether it wanted to stay in or out of his body. He wasn't sure what sound would come out if he tried to speak now. All he could do was clutch wordlessly at Gabriel's sleeve, as if that would do absolutely anything to forestall any violence, should the Archangel decide he was going to cross over that line.

Crowley put a soothing hand to Gabriel's chest. "It's not that," he assured, giving Aziraphale a determined look. "Aziraphale just prefers to read on his own, isn't that right, angel?"

Aziraphale nodded, still not trusting his voice, and closed the book.

Gabriel's frown abated, but only slightly, hands moving to his thighs like he was about to get up. Crowley hurriedly pressed on. "He should go read in the library." He gave Aziraphale a pointed stare. "Nice and quiet there," he continued, and slipped from the couch to instead kneel at Gabriel's feet before Aziraphale could stop him. "I'm sure I can keep you company out here."

Aziraphale felt his heart swell with gratitude even as his gut shrivelled in horror at seeing Crowley on his knees before the enemy like this. He couldn't even be mad that Crowley had undermined their agreement for Aziraphale to allow Gabriel to touch him further, not when he'd crumbled so quickly in the face of Gabriel's unexpected anger. Oh, but Aziraphale should have been braver than this, shouldn't have to have Crowley swoop in and save him like this, offering up his body like a bargaining chip, it was just another unfair cruelty piled on top of abject misery–

"That sounds like a great idea," Gabriel said, finally beginning to calm down, already spreading his legs apart so Crowley could shuffle closer. The demon did so, hands sliding up along the Archangel's thighs with a smile that Aziraphale could barely tell was being faked.

Wide, serpentine eyes flicked over to Aziraphale, his smile smaller but more genuine. "Go on, Aziraphale," he said softly. "We'll be all right."

What he meant, of course, was _I'll be all right_. Crowley couldn't frame it like that, though, couldn't suggest, however obliquely, that Gabriel might be a threat to him, something that he feared rather than loved. There was no telling how the Archangel would react to that.

Aziraphale couldn't just _leave_ Crowley out here, alone, at Gabriel's mercy, he couldn't. He'd insisted to Crowley that he would be present the next time Gabriel got amorous, what did it say about him if he backed out now?

But he'd made that decision under the assumption that Gabriel would be going into it with a good mood. With the Archangel's anger so recently close to the surface, it seemed infinitely more likely that Gabriel would push for more than he would have otherwise, demanding that Aziraphale make up for his poor showing of gratitude.

If he burst into tears in front of Gabriel now, the Archangel would lock him up in another room anyway, and only let him back out again when he was good and ready. Not to mention, having to deal with Aziraphale himself was just as likely to make Gabriel angry again, leaving him to work out his frustrations on the only other person left in the room with him. 

No, it was better if Aziraphale took this terrible gift Crowley had given him, and retreated to the library so that he could go to pieces like the coward he was.

He forced himself to his feet, ordered his jelly-like legs to support him as he wobbled unsteadily towards the door to the library. His hand trembled as he reached for the doorknob, grabbing hold just as his legs began to give out. Leaning against the door for support, he pushed it open and staggered inside, tension ratcheting up his shoulders at the sound of shifting fabric behind him.

He tortured himself with one last look before he closed the door. He saw the doting grin on Gabriel's face, his fingers sliding into Crowley's hair, Crowley's own fingers rising towards Gabriel's fly. Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut, using the threadbare remnants of his self-control to close the door quietly rather than slamming it like he wanted to. With the door shut, he was enshrined in seclusion, unable to hear a sound from the other side of the thick wooden panels separating him from Gabriel and Crowley. He still wasn't sure if that was worse or not.

Aziraphale cracked his eyes open again to look around at all the beautiful books Crowley had bought for him by selling his body, then sank to the floor and wept.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments of all shapes and sizes are greatly appreciated, and any properly credited creative responses are much adored (I only ask the you let me know once you post it, so that I can make excited noises at you).


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